Edges Of Times Town
P
Peter S. Quinn
0
Altın Yaprak
The days are coming clearly through
With what they want to share and do
With the edges of times town
In their morning of whitish gown
The strangeness of Stillness Street
Of the echoes from goner’s feet
The look of the chilled out run
From existence of once children’s fun
Doors of every nocturnal Sunday
In vanished songs of work and play
The miles maker though time's dust
That rushed along sideways and got lost
What in to the goings disappears
With burn of the longings in their years
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş