My eighty-three year old father
ascribes to the sort of contentment
that can only be derived from a door
with a hook & eye clasp.
Good, solid doors pock-marked
near the knob, further up
where the corner meets the jamb.
Brass or pewter amulets,
the least harbingers
against the unknown
but for his pets
equal to Fort Knox.
ascribes to the sort of contentment
that can only be derived from a door
with a hook & eye clasp.
Good, solid doors pock-marked
near the knob, further up
where the corner meets the jamb.
Brass or pewter amulets,
the least harbingers
against the unknown
but for his pets
equal to Fort Knox.
By William G. Davies Jr.
1 comment:
The writer lives on ten acres with his wife of forty years and they produce some pretty good red wine. His poetry will appear in the next issue of The Cortland Review.
Post a Comment