Poetry

Map, Ode, Metaphor Day 5

Ode to 669 (My road home.) Near morning, fog is thick to the ground, a white mist. Careful at the turn. It is one easily missed. Mr. Meed moves his sheep, they might stop, just beep. Sublime, watching deer eat apples from that tree. The one belonging to Mrs. B. Unyielding, Amish  along the way. Little children always… Continue reading Map, Ode, Metaphor Day 5

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