C K Williams
THE SINGING
I was walking home down a hill near our house on a balmy afternoon Under the blossoms Of the pear trees that go flamboyantly mad here every spring with Their burgeoning forth When a
Tar
The first morning of Three Mile Island: those first disquieting, uncertain, Mystifying hours. All morning a crew of workmen have been tearing the old decrepit roof Off our building, And all morning, trying to