Rowan - Poem by Leslie Philibert
Tough-wood and feather
half in flight;
bent as a dark fork.
The late of the year
spots her with blood berries
crouching against the wind.
The blasted daughter of high North,
a tryst with the harsh sleet,
dark as the night`s splinter.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You