by Paul C. Binotto © 2019  Grain is gold against autumn’s withering dust To be gathered up, carted, and stored. And, drawn down for my winter’s crust, Till all remains are crumbs upon the kitchen floor.   While new-seed still sleeps within its sack, And the tools on racks, still burnish rusty stain, The blossoms … Continue reading Crumbs Upon the Kitchen Floor →