Ithaca Poem by Harlequin Rose
Ithaca
Every journey has an end...this was ours.
You'll remember me
when the river breeze
brings the hem of your gypsy skirt to life
you'll remember those days
in the desert
you'll remember me
when the scent of night jasmine
makes you cry
you'll remember me in Ithaca
among fields of gold
when grains of sand blossom like flowers
Every journey has an end...and this is ours.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/7/2024 4:41:22 PM # 1.0.0.1119
