Nearby little peepers cry their love songs
Their rough voices sounding like the creak of a cork
Twisted in the neck of a whiskey bottle.
The tall grasses still brown and brittle
Pushed down flat here and there
Beds for weary deer.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Spring has sprung
Nearby little peepers cry their love songs
Their rough voices sounding like the creak of a cork
Twisted in the neck of a whiskey bottle.
The tall grasses still brown and brittle
Pushed down flat here and there
Beds for weary deer.
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1 comment:
So that's skunk cabbage, eh? I've seen it, but not known what it was, and I'm familiar with the name, but didn't connect the two unknowns. Thanks, Cousin.
Write on!
Because of Christ,
Sharon
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