PredicamentA Poem by Witty Fay
Let me feel that love of yours
In fall colour. You, me, two distant hours Of the same agnostic clock, Like some painting that never Unfolds to the greedy eyes, On a daylong whole Of trivial colourings And the smell of the ruins In the taffy glass -Oh, water is never on shortage Of drops here- So I feel its sourness through The n*****s of the day, While working on a potent magic Of autumnal eminence.
© 2014 Witty Fay |
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Added on September 16, 2014 Last Updated on September 16, 2014 Author
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