The Dead Bird In My GardenA Poem by Leslie Philibertas it is..Shock,without motion you are a Caricature of flight; a dry purse Filled with small stones;bonesticks, Misplaced.So now I must hide my Hands in garden gloves, full of Earthsweat and hardened by Rain. And when I carry you on a Spade it is a burial second-class. When you move, question, is it the Tremor of my own forearms ?, or are You ready for flight, still full of air ?
© 2014 Leslie PhilibertReviews
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9 Reviews Added on September 2, 2014 Last Updated on September 2, 2014 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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