T.S. Eliot called poetry a "raid on the inarticulate." You can never get something perfect, but you do come close sometimes. I write about what I know. And that is Cape Ann, Maine, quarries, wildlife, beaches, coastline, children, the march of time. I hope you enjoy my words.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
Be the Seed
Your time in winter sleep,
Enough of that; you're done.
Today, you'll crack in darkness.
Then blossom in the sun.
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