Pickles
Sour pickles that make me pucker
Poetry
Black Friday
I tried, I tried, with all my might
Flying Home
I watched the sun set and the moon rise
The Clown
What lies beneath the painted mask?
On the Crest of the Storm
thunderous dark skies
The Gypsy Tent
I wandered through the county fair
Confession
Murderer! Murderer! I thought I would ne’er hear that word.