Fairy Tale

So we came down from the mountain
And it was spring withal
No one left in the old village
Grandmama had vanished
But we had her favorite thistles
In a basket
We stood in the warm and mild haze
Our hearts racing
In the flowering rough meadow

Author: stevekuusisto

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