A small collection of poems

My heart, it is made of stone.
It has walled itself in, my heart.
Few have made those walls shudder.
And none have made them sunder.
My heart, how foolish is my heart.

_{march, 1999}

A new spring,
Birds take to wing.

New grass grows,
New water flows.

All things blossom,
In Mother Nature’s bosom.

_{march, 1999}

From a creative wellspring
Come one by one,
Fishes called story and song.

_{january, 1999}

These times
Like vines
They strangle
And mangle

I would say
If I may
You become free
Or you flee

_{october, 1999}