A poet doesn’t have to be well-known to be remembered.
The phrase has come back to me because I’m packing.
Cliff Ashby, who died last week, loved the natural world.
Poor Fredegond Shove. It doesn’t sound an auspicious name, though ‘shove’ rhymes, at the very least, with ‘love’.
I think poems and recipes have a lot in common. Sometimes they can even be combined.
Poetry is out to get me.