Poems given to me while spillin' tea on my keyboard, often get dropped here for the benefit of humanity and my own hubris.
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Watching three ravens, spinning and twirling acrobatics in the sky In the hot, afternoon sun. I look for the poem Hidden in their wake.
Thought originally posted on Thursday, 13 June 2002
© 2002-2005, Howard Abrams • Except where otherwise noted, all original content is licensed under a Creative Commons License (see details).
© 2002-2005, Howard Abrams • Except where otherwise noted, all original content is licensed under a Creative Commons License (see details).
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