Warning

Warning

Bloody meat lies at my feet, come closer if you dare. There’s no thrill in a hard day’s kill when winter food is rare; razor sharp teeth and frenzied eyes warn others to beware. ~ Poet Stoker

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Frost Woods

Frost Woods

The misty moss-covered forest floor this time of year is scented with mayflowers. The aroma of new life in spring brings joy to my nostrils and softness to my step as I explore the lovely woods of Robert Frost’s poetry. How nice it would be if you were here with me; together we could pick wild flowers and mushrooms, make a smudge fire, fill our bodies with sweet smoke and chew spruce gum while singing songs of lost lovers and figures so forlorn. ~ Poet Stoker