Poetry by Dead MenA Poem by Kelly ScheppersPoetry by Dead Men my
feet were crossed within
his lap as
he read to me poetry
by dead men i
listened with earnest intent as
the atmosphere around me slipped into
oblivion as
the spine of books crackled
upon opening to
pages in sepia tones spoken
in the tenor of his voice there
were offerings of Robert Frost, of
how the woods were
dark and lovely and deep… e.e.
cummings, who
wrote about the rain with all its obscurities having
such small hands. the
afternoon was well spent, like
Hemingway’s fisherman was to the sea my
heart became a voyager to
the past as
winter was no more an intrusion with
an accumulation of snow as
he read to me poetry
by dead men. © 2024 Kelly ScheppersFeatured Review
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Added on March 10, 2024Last Updated on March 10, 2024 AuthorKelly ScheppersSan Diego, CAAboutI was never a pearl kind of girl... always wore jeans with holes in the knees. more..Writing
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