Grab a glob of literary playdough. Plunge into metaphorical fingerpaint. Explore. Discover. Reconnect with the joy of writing. Let's play!
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
I despair of the world and then I see
The blossoms on an apple tree,
The leaf-topped tips of a lilac bush,
A smudge of green, spring's frosted push
Born from winter's cold remains,
Dots of life on pale gray frames.
If such bare bones are still alive,
Then hope, perhaps, can be revived.