THE WINTER It stands barefoot on the ground Its marble steps stride along the earth Playing its own loneliness by whistling It hangs the turned down lamp of dimness On the four walls of horizon Its a bored child Sitting on a stone It writes, by letters of ice, The poem of coldness On its quite clean note-book Its a provoked king Heaping orders It releases the army of silence From the snow country Its a bun-seller Walking in all streets, Shouting by its childish voice It collects the silence in its box Its a white haired juggler Of the winter Showing its most amazing talent It settles, with dexterity, The nature in the glass coffin Of a death in pretence
Posted on: Tue, 18 Mar 2014 18:38:05 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015