Wednesday, March 6, 2013

the last winter poem

late night
low snow plough rumbles
back-up beeping
blue lights flashing
metal blade scraping - shooting sparks

the tired monk
now awake
picks up his shovel
joins in

Posted by at

4 comments:

  1. AnonymousMarch 6, 2013 at 7:31 AM

    I imagine a sigh, then a scoop.

    Awesomely done, per usual.

    ReplyDelete
  2. MarianMarch 6, 2013 at 1:51 PM

    wishful thinking!

    ReplyDelete
  3. erinMarch 6, 2013 at 2:20 PM

    the last? you think?

    Ollie, meet March.
    March, meet Ollie:)

    xo
    erin

    ReplyDelete
  4. Richard CodyMarch 6, 2013 at 11:35 PM

    Might as well!

    ReplyDelete

Thanks for helping with the development of Olsonomics.

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