Category: Terradise

Where flow small rivers in their quest for sea,
Across the pebbles, and around a stone,
Between the chiseled banks where winter’s end
Sees droves of white dentaria April-blown;
Where great white oaks and sycamores unbend
Above the water turning into foam;
Along this water-path a soul might mend–
Here let me settle; let me call it Home.

by Ray Romine Monday, June 8, 1953

The wind blows bleakly autmnn from the west
To send late leaves to their cold winter’s nest;
Our bare brown woods contains one sturdy oak
That blushes hotly for less modest folk.

A goldfinch clinging to a swaying weed
Pries lustily to crack a stubborn seed;
His song, as he loops gracefully away,
Mocks gently at this “melancholy” day.

by Ray Romine Friday, October 31, 1952