Evergreen… When The Leaves Fall

I haven’t written a bad poem in weeks. Nor a good one. Ebb and flow, you know. And the day seems to end shortly after lunch. And it’s ink dark before even a hint of evening appetite.

It all makes the cocktail hour murky. Which leads to supplemental consumption and mild depression before dessert. And bad poems approximate a sugar buzz.

Published by

r.Douglas

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.