May 25, 2018·1 min read
This sort of thing happens ALL THE TIME when I write poetry.
father, motorcyclist, old retired guy who’s just a little lost on a blue marble corkscrewing its way to oblivion
…wo more poems since that first one. When I was writing the second of these, a poem about my father, the unexpected final line left me in tears that washed away an ancient burden of bitterness.
C. M. Barrett
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