After The Rain
After the rain washes all clean...

Gathering moof-flowers
Harbingers of my dreams...

Flowers bloom and the bluebirds sing,
Earth's beauty calls to us all, on wings...

The gypsy, I think, is in all of us here
Where poets meet and it appears...

The bombs fly
a rain of fire...

The Gypsy
(A few words to express a desire or flair I...

Why hide...
Indeed...