The Fountain
T Tom Billsborough
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The fountain starts again.
Rippling its refrain
Above improbable shadows,
As goldfish fins flutter
To absorb the air-rich water.
Sharp as the verbs of movement
Is their darting dance.
Below the algae of our surfaces.
And if by chance I flit my grotto
Of inconsequence
Into translucent waters
May I also
Garner in the rich new flow.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş