Poems come and go, like raindrops do
Every now and then, a long-shot view
A garden, narrowly mistaken for woods
My poems come and go, without you.
They come from nowhere and return nowhere, too
In this wide grassland of nowheres, swims a flute
The old listens to the gramophone, awaiting the new
The new blends into the breeze, with a Sunset hue.
Every now and then, a long-shot view
A garden, narrowly mistaken for woods
My poems come and go, without you.
They come from nowhere and return nowhere, too
In this wide grassland of nowheres, swims a flute
The old listens to the gramophone, awaiting the new
The new blends into the breeze, with a Sunset hue.
No comments:
Post a Comment