Poetry

(with apologies to the lad from Shropshire) “Now come on check the threads you wear A public man should take more care The crowd in which you try to shine…

In Walden Pond there lived a frog, A wise and pithy sprite. Who spent his days on marshial law, Philosophized at night. He was the king of bullrush shore –…

To you whose sand has slipped at last Be sure that some think far too fast Your words, your voice, forever stilled And what is left seems loud and shrill….

Here soft we rest beside a brook Cool fed from mountain streams To drink our well-earned respite And feed our tired dreams. Though moisture glistens on his back His breath…