Is it not unusual to have an apple delivered fresh from German soil?

Complications of this holiday prove plentiful and embarrassing,

Had I known, had I known

 Let me tell you, now’s the time to send your frontal lobe out for recess. This poem is all amygdala,

Storge does not speak People.  She did her best to inform me of her problem.  In her dog way

I have occasionally written about time;

I seek treasures but not the sort that belong on glass shelves with indirect lightening

Who doesn’t know that confession seldom bodes well for the teller of them, but I confess. I don’t feel like writing

Be sure to wind the clock until the constant winding pressure will no longer tighten the spring. There is a definite stop encountered when the clock has been fully wound. Do not be afraid of winding it too tight.”

“WITH” It’s a simple thing, this little preposition, this little English word that means not much more than it is always “accompanied by” another word

Here’s what I want to tell you about my Thanksgiving

Let me confess right here. . . .

Ready for something other than Politics? How about a word?