A poet is someone—you, me, anyone—who writes poems. —Jerome Judson
Spring oozes with opportunity to explore nature, to bathe in the fragrance of blossoms. As dew falls on the flowers, an early morning walk through the garden reveals droplets hanging. Are they tears of sadness or joy?
I wrote today’s poem a couple of weeks ago when the azaleas were resplendent. So many blossoms filled the garden, I hardly knew where to point my camera. Every petal begged for my attention.
And I? I turned my attention to each one with a photograph and a poem.