scribble
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Instrument
Do you look upon me as an unused pen Or an instrument prepared and poised to write The words and works that speak of such a life Made pleasing and productive in your sight? Or am I still a stone that holds within The unspilled waters of the unstruck spring, The unloosed letters of the Continue reading
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The Gardener
Their forks clicked in unison against the empty plates as they set them down, finished. The utensils were not the only things that had clicked. The meal had been delicious, the girl lovely, the man courteous, the conversation interesting and free of the awkward pauses generally ended by dull commentaries on the weather or the Continue reading
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Ryanne Molinari 