from ago I sat
with O risen Orion
bullets in my belt
my fond hound below
a foothill for his pillow
that until exile
to the Strangers West
where the morning tips a cup
and I learn to thirst
Poetry
from ago I sat
with O risen Orion
bullets in my belt
my fond hound below
a foothill for his pillow
that until exile
to the Strangers West
where the morning tips a cup
and I learn to thirst
Very good. Especially, as always your last stanza seems to grab me.>KB
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Already…we ran across an hare and play fetch a parchment
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