Your Mind Is A Little, Clandestine Pastel
M
Maxwell Bodenheim
0
Altın Yaprak
Your mind is a little, clandestine pastel
Shaped into a posture of rigid grief.
Its colors huddle together
And make a stunted, aching lyric. . . .
Ah frail-flowered moment preceding reality-
Your eyelids open; the little pastel dies.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş