Art ‘n poetry.
Outside, upon the paved ‘n railing-ringed walk – sheltered – way, where Sunday patrons sit, the sun, through th’river’s auld reflection sings on th’wooden slats below the Cascade Steps.
I do wonder…
A dragon’s hide.
Creation pained; a look that’s lost, or hid…
No calligraphy you’ll lay that isn’t art.
Where is the poetry and where’s the poet that it clasps to?