Inspired by the poem 'Fog' by Carl Sandburg.
He comes quietly, night after night,
soft four-toed footprints in the frosted grass.
He rolls over, and over, stretching
in discontent – purrs once,
twice,
and falls asleep.
Winter Rain
More by OverTheRainbow
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8:15 p.m. on a wednesday night
it is terrifying to read two hundred and fifty-year-old writing condemning the king's actions and realize the president (king) of your country is guilty of all of these
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wild things
Every spring, we throw ourselves
unceremoniously into the birthing world, abandon
all remnants of the cold dark snow. We are sun-drunk
and terribly deprived.
We give little shrieks of joy
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