Ken and Linda
By Kenneth Frank Doig
No more options,
Spring fades, a green souvenir.
Mid stream astride slippery boulders,
Substance like fool's gold caught in
Hopes sluiced bare of desire,
Summer never happened.
Essence a reflection in a barber's mirror,
Autumn almost gone.
Papers clog the fence like dirty snow,
Winter, a newscast.
Return to: Home
to Ken Doig