This poem was written at the confluence of two events: the coming of Spring and the death of a dear friend.
Who looks at whom?
The many pretty beauty that may cause an awkward gawk and a good thrash on bedtime.
this is my first posting to this group, any costructive criticism would be appreciated, thankyou!
Soldier's of the ninties complained about the conditions in the Falklands. People never realise how fortunate they really are sometimes.
forever is a long time...
penned a while back
