DonegalA Poem by Leslie Philibertabout what it isA line of stones; the threat of so much space, a fallen horizon. Salt grass coarse with rain, nights heavy with tides and the battered steel of the sea, the broken gong of the moon, strange friends. Then, I knew not what to call the rough curves of peat, slight of the sea a bodhran wind over the rocks. When I am no more, let me melt in the rain of this cold coast, its own name shaped, the seagull`s call.
© 2015 Leslie PhilibertReviews
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7 Reviews Added on March 27, 2015 Last Updated on March 27, 2015 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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