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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musings of an unrefined philosopher
I am a poet. I take the words and I turn them on their heads until the juice runs out. It is red and sweet, like strawberries. I sit cross-legged on lilypads, watching meaning watercolor itself onto the pond. I rust like clockwork in the rain.
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purim
It is a joyous day
amidst a burdened world.
We cluster around stand mixers like crows
to telephone wire, make holy messes
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