Living verse left to last,
Poesy wrapt,
Longing – white, white, dream
Serene,  

I know it’s true
Alone

Me? I like the last row.

I'm not the front row sort of gal;
I like the paler of the lights,
to be amongst the fewer known
maintaining

One day, to dust,
I shall bring my inquiry,
with load supported -
not mine upon our last meeting:

Will you too,
make naked

You never met my mother

You never heard her voice

How much she would have loved you

She would have said rejoice!

I’ve

A daffodil went walking

In modest pea-green traveling suit; a hat of buttery frill

Thriving under April’s sky, of