(I once heard her say: “…some people don’t speak poetry…”)
Echoes of a Poet’s Voice
A message in a bottle all
the fish can hear. It bobs, it floats,
it drifts…Its message is not clear.
So I will listen to the fish
each time they whisper here. I know
that they can see its words, I know
its message clear. No feet have they
to trample words, no muddy hands
in tow. For fish glide graceful and
they hear that voice from depths below.