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The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
-Carl Sandburg-

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A wonderful poem by Amy Lowell.

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I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

- William Carlos Williams

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I often scribble in the sand
The words I find so hard to say
And hope the wind will come along
And blow them all your way.

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She sits with
tears on

her cheek
her cheek on

her hand
the child

in her lap
his nose

pressed
to the glass

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so much depends

upon

a red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chickens

- William Carlos Williams

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the back wings

of the

hospital where

nothing

will grow lie

cinders

in which shine

the broken

pieces of a green

bottle

- William Carlos Williams