Saturday, September 18, 2021

At Dusk

His black beard was the color of the sky without stars.

Her pen was broken and ink was spilling on the oak desk.

Their rough elements were caught in the door as they started the car.

One's work is never done not even at dusk.

People have a way of loking down the well.

She didn't know the difference between the sun and a flash.

He stopped the train with a loud yell.

It didn't matter when it crashed.

So long to Louisiana with its cypress trees.

If time was a string and I was a bell,

and I make a sound

I cannot tell.