Contours You Can't Put A Finger On… Poem by Mark Heathcote
Contours You Can't Put A Finger On…
Every lover has a contour you just can't-touch
musical notes that echo, far away inasmuch-
it's like trying to contain a rain clouds image.
As it swings north then south across the coast.
All hold a little bit back; behind a drawbridge.
Each gal unheard has a damsels cry, riposte.
Enough, that'll make grown men weep, and cry,
so, he reserves making claps of thunder 'high.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/4/2024 12:30:52 PM # 1.0.0.1119
