Nicy Robinson Poems

Wandering through wet whistling wind,
Drifting through greying drizzle across the open land in
March’s gathering green,
catching in the mist nature’s mysterious melancholy
...

Beauty the featherbed clouds
Suspended in golden evening
Some tower like mountains
Some cower like hills
...

Inspiration comes calling
Infrequently
Sometimes for a few hours
Few days
...