Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
The Season
The season slides
to wind and showers
and sharp hot sun
(for rare half-hours)
and all the world
lays waste its powers
pursuing what it cannot own.
Then mists and fogs and hazy sunrise
ships’ dull horns and lazy gull cries.
Now blazing heat
(bone dry pails)
sandy feet
single sails.
And thoughts slip in and out of being
just on the edge of almost-seeing.
poem
by
Brian Taylor
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black