Until sent stepping down the pedals—scalar,My feet were not sure of their footing hereBut then, at once, my most pressing fearBecame naught but a small
Category: Poetry
Two Poems for St. Andrew’s
When I moved to St. Andrew’s, Scotland to pursue my master’s degree, I was convinced that I would love that little town of stone and
Lack to Love: a sonnet
Inspired by C.S. Lewis’Â The Four Loves: My moon-sick eyes I turn from Sun above; Too brilliant, let me see yet silhouettes And trace them on
First Frost
The Scottish people may not have been big fans, but this Arizona girl found the first frost enchanting. (Until she almost slipped on ice during
The Philanthropist
He began the fall in wealth, His arms hanging heavy with green, new-money Made in spring. It was the cash that grows on trees: Easily
Hallow Hill
The hill was ghostly. Even before finding an old sign revealing its history as an early Christian burial site, I could sense the tension between
