Cataract
T Tom Billsborough
0
Altın Yaprak
Waterfalls of words.
Cascading down
From reservoirs of being.
Sometimes I am seeing
Ghosts of songs,
Arising from the cloudy plumes
Of spray forced up
From the pure depths of our Niagaras.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş