Evening again lays down shadow
Like a cardplayer
With a hopeless hand.
At the bend in the avenue
A Fragrance of honeysuckle
Gathers up overhanging dusk.
Three trees by the bedroom window
Are unwinding the final strands
Of daylight from their branches;
With silent hands
You are winding another night
Through your hair.
What is it, is it that is in the air?
Something finished, or a thing just begun?
While the orchestra underneath what happens
Still plays on, will play on,
You go on twisting and untwisting
Nights through your hair,
Nights out of your hair.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Boudoir. by Seamus Hogan )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- Fear and Fright, Ismim Putera
- A Thousand Faces, Cheyenne Doss
- "...from neck to nuts", Jeff Gangwer
- They Have Been Sleeping in the War Zone, Ismim Putera
- Soul, Joseph Narusiewicz
- On mission, hasmukh amathalal
- WHITE DID HIS JOB, maqsood hasni
- BUT TWO MORE, maqsood hasni
- No selfish lien, hasmukh amathalal
- Time to annihilate, hasmukh amathalal