Friday, May 13, 2016

A Picture-Poem

It splays on walls

On meadow-halls

On ramparts, lofty-blue

It spills to hills

And silvered rills

To wooded avenue

It lies against

The forlorn fence

It steals the dreamer’s heart

With every hue

We ever knew

In Mother Nature’s art

© Janet Martin, what kind of flowers do you think Janet should plant in here when she is done digging?' I asked the little guy I babysit.
'How 'bout dandelions!' he suggested

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