by George Freek The sparrow builds her nest,but the wren sleeps in it.The world’s a nasty place,even for the human race.Stars fade on a bleak night,Stars fade on a bleak night,and December windsnose through the streetslike hungry swine,searching for scraps to eat.The moon climbs the sky,like a curtain on a…
by Richard Adams Carey I remember my mother being an atheist about the aging process. “I don’t feel any different,” she would protest as the decades marched on. She didn’t deny the aches and pains, which she did feel, and which were different. It was more a mental thing, a…
