Sunday morning

Flannel shorts

Knee socks

Bells ringing


In the bright October sun

Dry oak leaves

And stonewalls

Have found a permanent place


In my being

Fields of hay

Cut and measured by those walls

Woods beyond


Hell with that Sheridan pellet gun

And of course the cave

Now there was an eerie place

A concrete bunker


Built into the hillside

Potato storage

And snapping turtles

Heads above the water


Larger than softballs

Even hooked one once

When it came ashore

We all scattered


Like the seasons



Beagles snapping for mittens


On Sunday morning

With beat Levis

Tony Lamas



Bells ringing in the bright October sun

Did I tell you?

How beautiful

How you shine


On this bright Sunday morning