I thought love poetry was pretty much a thing of the past – you see occasional love poems today but love poetry as a genre seems to have been wrapped in acid-free paper and placed (lovingly) in a box in the attic. If I wanted to read it, I’d have to go dust off Elizabeth Barrett Browning or some of Shakespeare’s Sonnets.
And then I read Dave Malone’s Under the Sycamore.
To see my review, please visit TweetSpeak Poetry.
Post a Comment