a hat of
the season
appeared from
thin air. little
fianna clare
could barely
stare and
sniff at that
pointed thing,
just sitting there
reeking of
spider cakes,
eye of newt, the
biting aromas
of very nasty,
lumpy, soups.
For the Record,
This day came in sunny with increasing clouds. The nights are cooler, the season of drawing in, finally begins.
All hands horrified by the news and begging for PEACE.
I retired from public school teaching after happily spending twenty eight years playing in Kindergarten. Now I fill my days watching cat antics, taking endless...
