Amber Nest


Poetry is to life as a heart is to a body – it supplies the beat that livens life.  Poets do not write poems; poets write what they observe – poetry lives all around.  In flights of birds dancing atop concrete jungles and in the drumming rhythm of raindrops on tin roofs – in car horns that rise with the sun and ebb with dusk; and in stars that twinkle at night and exist in daylight, but out of sight.

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