“When the last rose of summer pricks my finger…”

I have written plenty of letters that I never sent. They’re in a box somewhere. Maybe in the closet or under my bed.

Let’s consider this letter sent now.

	First peregrine falc… on Falcons of the World: New Zeal…
	Patricia Gibbons on Rolling in ink.
	Eagle owls nest agai… on Owls Of the World-Africa.
	Mohita Verma on Went on a trip
	Who Defines our Valu… on On the wing

farnco illustrations