EarthA Poem by Leslie Philibertunder the singing ploughlandUnder the singing ploughland that sucks at heels ; a crush of half sticks warm cake of moss and water the dark loam broken, bones as flint and flint to cut. But they have it all ; rivers and mountains and palaces and streets (rain as white wine, stars as gravel, the moon`s rock) and the foolishness of glued wings. The tread of cruel steps.
© 2013 Leslie PhilibertReviews
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10 Reviews Added on June 20, 2013 Last Updated on June 20, 2013 AuthorLeslie PhilibertBavaria, GermanyAboutI`m not important. I just want to write a couple of good poems. Just read what I write. That`s enough. more..Writing
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