The fog was rolling in a couple of days ago, and it put me in mind of the poem we learned in grade school – Fog. I seem to have retained this poem in my long term memory, I guess, due to its simplicity and imagery. I still love it all these years later:
Fog
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
Carl Sandburg, 1878-1967
One of my favourite places to photograph is the Toronto Necropolis, as odd as that may sound. I love the Gothic feel and sense of…
Sonnet 94 They that have power to hurt and will do none,That do not do the thing they most do show,Who, moving others, are themselves…
Continuing in a Yeats vein, I’ve always enjoyed his poem Among School Children. I look upon the poem as a commentary on growing older and,…
