Let not the Olive boast of her own fatness, nor the Fig-tree of her own sweetness, nor the Vine of her own fruitfulness, for we were all but Brambles.
We should never forget that of all the art forms, only the poem can be carried around in the brain…
Galactic Lovepoem Warm your feet at the sunset Before we go to bed Read your book by the light of…
The mind I love must have wild places, a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an…