Across The Main
H
Herbert Nehrlich
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She floats.
Above old shingles
and windswept tops
of lonely trees.
She wears a gown
of pure chiffon,
it helps her fly
and carry on,
but what she bears
in secret pouches
it's words of poetry
to soothe the soul.
She's one of us
but by default.
And if she steps
across the stream,
partakes of juice
badly fermented,
she tastes the cheese
with its own 'music'
and dreams away,
tshunkle asway.
Bu şiiri puanla
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