City At Twilight

A poem

The plaintive bird outside is invisible,

not perched on the church spire,

nor in the palm trees below that shade the café;

it calls and calls, as if it’s lost something

I can only guess at, something

I, too, grieve for. The bird and I

Writer, editor, book lover — I've published many children's books and three crime novels for adults so far. I edit other people's fiction and poetry.