Le Lacrima del Fiore

A copse of wild white violets,
Or perhaps they are only weeds
Though no less beautiful,

Fragile and teary with dew.
I loosed their shallow roots
Away from the sodden ground

And carried them here, where
These cold white stones and earth
Lay fallow for eighteen years.

I kneel to plant them again,
My last Spring garden, and theirs,
Here in the dust of our deaths.





Poetry by countryfog
Read 531 times
Written on 2011-02-03 at 20:42

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


Ferenc Inigo Beck
Seems(in some obscure manner),to capture the music of nature. (e vita rinasce) Engaging.
2011-02-27


vladimir todor turmanev
Penetrating and,(painful)
2011-02-06



I especially like the way lines six and twelve contrast, and the way "copse" and "cold white stones" reinforce that contrast.
2011-02-04