Gretchen At The Spinning Wheel Poem by Leslie Philibert
Gretchen At The Spinning Wheel
wordless at this moment
virginal in a closed room
dark as a berry
Gretchen maid of wood
webbed as an old barn
eyes drops of glass
that seek a window
empty of steps, cast
ing a look at
all that brings no favour
or slowly turns the wheel
that darkly bares
the cloth of love
forsaken, heartpace of
an empty view, stop, cut.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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4/22/2024 9:44:56 PM # 1.0.0.1119
