First Known When Lost

Over a lifetime, I have failed to give the moon the attention it deserves.  But it is patient and forgiving, despite my faithlessness. Thus,...

As I have mentioned here in the past, each day I read a poem in the morning and a poem in the evening.  This was today's morning poem:  ...

The swallows have departed.  The tall, dry meadow grass rustles in the nearly empty air.  Now and then a sparrow suddenly flutters up from b...

This modest (and, of late, fitful) undertaking owes its name to Edward Thomas.  I expressed my thanks to him (accompanied by the touching el...

Each morning, I read a poem.  A long-time habit.  I began a recent spring day with this:      Tilling the field; From the temple among the t...

On a recent afternoon walk, I heard an unseen owl call from somewhere off in the forest: " Hoo-hoo . . .  hoo-hoo ."  This seemed ...

Solely by happenstance, this observation surfaced out of my memory during the past week: "The future's uncertain and the end is alw...

At Christmas, I turn to Thomas Hardy.  (As well as to George Mackay Brown (for instance, " Christmas Poem ": "We are folded ...