Potatoes, October By Michael Dennis Browne Summer 1987 Potatoes, that's what I'm after and that's what I find with my fork, at the first turning seven, red ones, all sizes. Last night's hard frost above was just a buzz to them. Why are the crows suddenly calling back down the hill? Is the spud s [...] 0 Comments
Wind, Fourth of July By Michael Dennis Browne Summer 1987 | Poetry Wind does one thing with clouds, another with leaves;the clouds go, go, go; the leaves 0 Comments
0 Comments