Rain follows hail.
Tea kettle burns dry.
The lock has seized, refuses keys.
By morning I am a small pile in a scramble of covers.
Your side of the bed has forgotten you.
Through it all, the iris stand fragile, steadfast, blue.
Jane's poem of this morning -
I haven't been here in awhile and I return today to learn there is a "new post editor". I start to try it and then go back to the old. I am…
I've been here at Live Journal since October, 2005. I started it to keep in touch with family and friends as I went through cancer treatment.…
Where I live the sun is shining and the buds have popped out so the plum trees are waving white. We've had months of rain, record breaking rain and…