The Unwritten Poem of Russell Rosander

To be as free as an unwritten poem.

My soul has wings
I flutter un-tethered
Drifting on the breeze
Chasing sunbeams.

I Am the Autumnal Sun writes Henry David Thoreau

"I am all sere and yellow"

Sometimes a mortal feels in himself Nature
— not his Father but his Mother stirs
within him, and he becomes immortal with her
immortality. From time to time she claims
kindredship with us, and some globule
from her veins steals up into our own.