The ocean is two weeks away from me. The ocean will be mine (all mine) for one week and two days.
Three new poems have appeared, there may be more, but I'm too exhausted to keep searching. I need a little rest.
Nine of the poems I've written this year seem to be shaping themselves into a new collection.
Several poems were pushed out of the nest wearing their best shoes and told to knock 'em dead. I feel like a stage mother.
I may be having some fabulous company this autumn. I'm thrilled with the prospect, delighted with the idea and giddy with anticipation.