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Somedays my legsare black theyve turned into wood i say.
The poem for Jan . 10for instance, "A Piece of Wood": I reach for a piece of wood.
Wood, I understand.
Dark wood, I give myself entirely.
Touch wood, I feel good".
"And, knock wood, I have never fallen so far.
Similar(5)
"Driver, 3-wood, 5-wood, I couldn't hit any of them any good," he said.
[On Wood] I call him my wrecking ball.
("We don't know what it'll be," says Wood. "I don't know if he knows yet").
John Wood, I have to tell him, would be mortified.
Victoria Wood 'I put everything down to the menopause these days: tiredness, irritability, global warming.
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CEO of Professional Science Editing for Scientists @ prosciediting.com