Flowers on a bitterstone
The amber danced along the road,sending shed-rows back a century,
and the bellwort pressing, finally pressing,
turned the pinyon's patient eye.
A woman placed her flowers down
upon the broken bitterstone,
and sings to sleep the man she made,
and too she dies a little more.
And while the forest harshly heaves,
to see that she should falter there,
the bellwort dying, finally dying,
finds no nuisance in her tears.
Poetry by kenneth wertz
Read 447 times
Written on 2007-03-03 at 16:50
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