K.L.B. Barsotti is a writer and artist living in the historic neighborhood of Columbus Park in downtown Kansas City, Missouri, with three cats, a bundle of rats, one husband, and one father, who taught her to be a full-fledged troublemaker and grumbletonian, for which she is forever grateful. Her mother taught her to laugh.
According to some people, Kate has too many typewriters.
Oddly, she has never owned a bird.
Kate Barsotti, firstname.lastname@example.org
A Bird came down the Walk— He did not know I saw— He bit an Angleworm in halves And ate the fellow, raw, And then he drank a Dew From a convenient Grass— And then hopped sidewise to the Wall To let a Beetle pass— He glanced with rapid eyes That hurried all around— They looked like frightened Beads, I thought— He stirred his Velvet Head Like one in danger, Cautious, I offered him a Crumb And he unrolled his feathers And rowed him softer home— Than Oars divide the Ocean, Too silver for a seam— Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon Leap, plashless as they swim.