Sally Cook

The opportunity for us To kick up dust and start a fuss Has so decreased in recent years It well might drive a cat to tears. The more we say we honor others And everybody must be brothers, More rules are made to say we can’t Say what we want, in play or rant. We love the truth, but guard our . . . . Continue Reading »

A morning showed its harsh and angry face, And people stumbling through the slush were stressed. They crept along, a dim and dirty race To jobs that no one wanted. I was dressed For winter. When I felt my worn boots slip I wished that they were ermine-trimmed and lined. My icy failures had me in . . . . Continue Reading »