Afterwards

The cabbin is bravely located by the edge of a rock
an idyllic view that tend to fade after dusk

Bird of prays take their freedom easily
As if our miles could be counted in strokes of their wings

As if our illusions was only lamps in our windows
As if it was me who put them out


As if it was me who put them out



Poetry by F. Soderberg
Read 828 times
Written on 2006-02-13 at 00:09

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