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The autumnal storms of time strip ideas
From my imagination like leaves from
A tree, which I shed on paper as tears
Of ink for roaming eyes to walk upon
And in the rustling of thoughts grasp a vein
Of nature, which has waited for my pen
Language, books, paper before it attained
All that's necessary to be fallen.
If there were a new season in the year
It would come after autumn's collections
Of ideas and before winter's ice-clear
Winds and with it would come new emotions.
Anemophilous dreams swaddled in lace
Possessing no time and causing no haste. |
| Posted: 13.5.2008 at 05:29 | Read 105 times | 1 comment | Leave Comment |
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