I’ve been away too long.

"If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?" wrote Shelley. As spring comes, March watches over its first steps.

He gained none of the world's glory, ran no large company, held no great post.

Our ship was all we needed then. Our ship was all our need.

This poem is just "a flight of fancy" that I wrote many years ago.

We miss the weather we were raised with. After all, it is a lifelong friend.

A lament for the excess of tarmac.

Missing the rain.

The sun lends a hand and shows us the way.

Does anyone read poetry these days? Does anyone still read a poem aloud, just for the pleasure of hearing the music?