November 2011
5 posts
Poem
for Marie
Love, I shall perfect for you the child Who diligently potters in my brain Digging with heavy spade till sods were piled Or puddling through muck in a deep drain.
Yearly I would sow my yard-long garden. I’d strip a layer of sods to build the wall That was to keep out sow and pecking hen. Yearly, admitting these, the sods would fall.
Or in the sucking clabber I would splash ...
“One of the advantages of being disorganized is that one is always having...”
– A.A. Milne