by Prasanta | Apr 22, 2019 | Poetry, Spring
In April surprised by any old thing that should uproot itself and subvert the winter awakening to newness from sleep surprised each morning I, too, awake words– thrown away by winds souls– slaughtered by hatchets see— but don’t see my heart left me—...
by Prasanta | May 1, 2018 | Beauty, Nature, Poetry, poets, Spring, Uncategorized
May Day by Sara Teasdale A delicate fabric of bird song Floats in the air, The smell of wet wild earth Is everywhere. Red small leaves of the maple Are clenched like a hand, Like girls at their first communion The pear trees stand. Oh I must pass nothing by...
