Where is our root?
On shifting fashions,
like that house built on sand,
awaiting the tumolt
and inevitable ruin?
Or on authentic sense,
that citadel founded on rock,
indifferent to buffeting winds
and punishing waters?
autumn rain
a swollen brook eroding
a well-worn rock
Mish hosts dVerse Poets Pub’s Quadrille #45–rock tonight!

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