A poem by Julie Maclean

  U plain every night when spring gets going we sit outside in fold-up chairs, yours ripped from being left out in the weather, mine hanging in by a thread you watch dragon flies like micro choppers on some reconnaissance or other       I admire the sass of lily buds       baby maggies teetering on the brink of their first bath       wattle birds in cirque de soleil … Continue reading A poem by Julie Maclean