Feather-light divas and tiny sopranos
crowd the proscenium outside my window.
A musical interlude, the chorus weaves
Mourning dove and warbling wren into
Act New on the loom of operatic days.
Dave Read
Poems
Order should be imposed on my poems, but isn't likely to be until I turn to carpentry, or painting, to carry me through the day. The display here is latest first.