Stories in Verse and Prose

Every day a new story comes to life. Most of them remain unwritten. But some of them deserve to be put in writing.

True or fictitious, I jot them down. Some in prose; others in verse. And a few of them get their own tune.

A stillborn season

A stillborn season is but a season stillWhat does it matter if it lasts a yearOr ends after a week at will? And one that flounders is but a season tooWhy should we harshly judge its trembling gaitOr gripe that no grapes grew? Rather than blame the blight and slur the seasonI offer thanks for […]


Sleepless? Perhaps But not without a dream Things are not always What they would seem I’d rather this odd Insomnia keep Than lie in bed With dreamless sleep


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