Each snowflake, like each human being is unique. |
| 18 Ilm 163 B.E. - November 3, 2006 Pomes concealed in profundity’s echoes rumble through my soul. Where the bull got loose poetry’s outlaws stroll through night’s divine waters. Sycamore shadows inhale early autumn scents form oak gall poems. Intentional odes, accidental poetry September lovers. Looking south across wasp larvae and damsel flies unruly poets. |