Teething Child
M
Mark Heathcote
0
Altın Yaprak
Daylight fevers under cold sheets
Where sleep is like a pilot-light
Hoping it never meets the night
Never blinks at its dead defeats.
Oh teething child, scorn on brave.
Bite on deep; disconnect your jaw,
And take in more, kicking, roars.
Than even you can, ever waive.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş