| Give a Gift |

  • Digital Edition


By Penny Cooper

Our rock spins, whirring into black

O but we do not fall from our rock

And oceans never spill a drop.

And houses stand still

and children sleep securely,

cuddled by the towns.

And leaves on trees do not even tremble as they might.

While you

and you

stand and walk

or run or ride

across the planet

that is our home.

Subscribe to P&W Magazine | Donate Now | Advertise | Sign up for E-Newsletter | Help | About Us | Contact Us | View Mobile Site

© Copyright Poets & Writers 2016. All Rights Reserved