The pines hold their arms wide open
to me, and never tire.

The crows are better at living, and
smarter, we both know this.

The stream runs cold and clear, clearer
than my head, not nearly as cold

As the wind that blows through
my open heart.

About Ray Sharp

Poet, athlete, retired public health planner
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2 Responses to April

  1. mrsorenson says:

    I enjoyed several ways. In several ways it led me to enjoy. And question.

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