Shouting Red.
E
Emmanuel George Cefai
0
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The land
It is shouting
Red.
It is night.
The wind has usurped the
Trees.
Insects of the night are
At work or love.
The mill works as in the day
But slower.
The ploughman returning looks
At the high heavens.
And says not one word.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş