All Things Have
Their Season
How strange;
nothing said of
you being gone - and yet,
these fading calls of geese winging
away . . .
Anna Akhmatova
Your words:
sharpened fine steel
forged in the fires of Hell,
burning red coals that keep your heart
alive!
Call Me Irresponsible
Playing
hookey from work,
and still stealing melons -
with luck, some of us never will
grow up . . .
Return to the front page of this issue:
Amaze Vol.
4, No. 4
Go to the
Poets & Authors page for the poet's
biographical sketch and email link.
All poems are copyright © 2006 by their respective authors.
