I long for the bulbs to arrive, for the early autumn chores are melancholy, but the planting of bulbs is the work of hope and is always thrilling.
We are able to laugh when we achieve detachment, if only for a moment.
A house that does not have one warm, comfy chair in it is soulless.
Inside my mother's death / I lay and could not breathe.
Fire is a good companion for the mind.
Poems like to have a destination for their flight. They are homing pigeons.