Hoar Frost Poem by Ian Bowen
Hoar Frost
How cold the hand
that clutches winter
by its tail. How warm the heart
whose eyes fall upon
their first hoar frost.
Diamonds bigger
than the testicles of kings,
hang from white trees
where silver slithers, sliding
along each branch.
Necklace twigs,
tiara topped
and dressed to kill;
a total fantasy
of jealous jewelers...
who, could
never ever match
nature's shimmering Gala Ball.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/25/2024 11:44:33 AM # 1.0.0.1119
