A random quatrain
Four lines, the poet, the work, the year.
The river kept the map we lost,
and folded it beneath the ice.
We walked the bank and named the frost
a second road, and paid the price.
Iona Grell · River North
2018
Four lines, the poet, the work, the year.
The river kept the map we lost,
and folded it beneath the ice.
We walked the bank and named the frost
a second road, and paid the price.
Iona Grell · River North
2018