The scent of rain, as an ancient redwood tree points to the first evening star. – Dr.SunWolf, professorsunwolf.com
Invite your melancholy outside for a walk. Or read it a poem. Or bake it chocolate chip cookies. – Dr.SunWolf, professorsunwolf.com
The man was on his knees, trying to retrieve each of his ugly words that were now scattered on the floor. But, of course, it was too late. – Dr.SunWolf, professorsunwolf.com
“Most poems are never finished,” (I was defensive). He sighed: “No, most poems are never started.” – Dr.SunWolf, professorsunwolf.com