Poetry comes and goes….

Poetry comes and goes
Like melody or rain
I miss you father

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Horse weed grows by the house
Seeds fly
Little eye travelers

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Grass blades
High summer clouds
Far off a car starts

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Where are the books I loved as a child
Are they buried in the earth
I think so

**

I remember as a boy
The first time
I clung to a dog’s fur

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto