27 October 2010

Nothing Grand



Morning's first light is grand.

Peace and promise are in my hand.

The early child's an angel,

Until the next ones do finagle.

So whispers rise to shouts.

So screams derive from pouts.

So my day goes down the drain.

Nothing grand can I sustain.


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With respect to Robert Frost.

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Open A Drawer

Today's 15 minute writing exercise, from The Observation Deck: A Tool Kit for Writers , by Naomi Epel ______________________ I thrust my...