Poets

Under the Castle gate bringing my store to the kitchen I am asked to wait. Honey shines in crocks in my basket.

Via the pole, I look down to the angled view from the wing, and wonder I let myself in for this adventure of words. Once the action took over I was shepherded into the plane. Here I am in a prison cabin bound for Chicago.

Each year turns, every year renews. All variations of green shade shine thousands in each of a million trees meanwhile in hundreds of towns the travellers