Tonight our Pilgrim sleeps under velvet skies As we count the days since the caravans have departed winter’s rite He finds his beloved in a hundred murid images The clues hiding deep in these crossed roads of a poet’s second-hand notebook. For those of us left behind to finish with this wayward strole The milkiest way … Continue reading River Song
This post first appeared on An Unexpected Muse | WRITING… AFTER PARKINSON'S, please read the originial post: here