Comments about Paul Lierman
A Thorn Among Roses
White saturates the air, whisks about and lands
On likewise white hair, and on grey bony hands.
The traveler shudders from within his mottled cloak
And rolls a wretched shoulder, his satchel dark with soak.
Alone he treks forever across the endless, barren plains
Bearing all alone his haunting burdens and his pains.