A journal of narrative writing.
Spring Comes to the American Revolution

Some are soldiers.
Some are sunshine patriots this Spring,
marching through soggy woods like me.
These are the times to dry menís soles,
and I have just begun my flight.
Give me leafy trees or give me babyís breath.
I regret I have but one night to lose in the country.
Behold, these roots are self evident.
All glens are not created equal.
But I must stop along this walk
and bring two things
back home with me.
I must remember only these:
oneth buy lamb and twoeth buy cheese.