Bard & Quill

A story sits,

A writer is sentenced,

I’ve often thought,

I see Autumn through,

Writing is an act,

When she sits down,

I walk along,

A footpath in the forest,

You may fade,

Tenderly,

Life with dogs

The sand’s stuck in its glass,

Let me carry the burden, dear friend,

When it comes to poetics,

Every where I go I feel like I’m carrying your gravestone with me, It’s hard, and rough, and tough to carry.

All day I write,

With each turn,