Night The Fifth Poem by Peter Russell
Night The Fifth
A pig that wallows in the mud
Plotinus says can be washed clean.
Dung-spattered bull tormented by the flies
Be milk-white, silken-soft like Jove
Tempting Europa on the beach.
Each morning when I take my bath
My body's beautiful and white -
But oh I have no appetite!
Wild strawberries or a peach
For me have nothing to teach.
I smoulder like a dying fire,
My native land the hearth.
Every night for nine nights Manuela appeared to me in a dream, and each night she spoke a poem to me. I had never seen her before and I have no idea who she was. - P.R.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 12:10:24 AM # 1.0.0.1119
