EDITOR’S CHOICE: Bringing some of my favorite previously published poetry back to the front page.
Poetry by Harold Strauss
The gates were guarded by a drooping man
With a tired face and a halberd in hand
Whose silhouette seemed through the fog
A grain-filled sack settling into nature’s laws.
His watchful gaze fell to his feet
And from my study I could see
That the watchman had finally fallen asleep.