Hi, there! I’m Tipper Allen, and guess what? I got out! Nobody knows how I did it, and I’m not telling. 😀 Momma looked up from her gombuter where she types stuff, and there I was, outside. So she ran out, but she stopped to…

This is a July poem, but so what? It’s just barely August, so … close enough for folk music. HARBINGER by Marian Allen The locust trees are turning and it’s only July. Gold-brown, red-brown, brown, they shock the eye, dead in the green; as out…

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