Attic Room
M
Mark Heathcote
0
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Through a narrow doorway, turning left
I was dumped and placed in the attic room
the linen white was crisply pressed
and a crucified Christ hung bereft
silver dappled draped a shining moon
How clearly I still remember the sorrow
of that little attic room, within me
it's darkness like a shining barrow
gloom, waiting to be lifted, freed esprit.
Bu şiiri puanla
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