Poems for All Reasons

The Blacksmith The blacksmith by his anvil, his hammer in his hand. He beats a merry rhythm upon the hardened steel. Tap, tap, it bounces, up and down, a clear shrill note as old as time. The shoe he forms with an expert eye, as practiced as his old clay pipe. The Language of Flowers A wish: A cry from the heart A dream: A longing for something good A care: For something lovely Gary the Grasshoppe...