I.F. Kobjelska (31.5.1991)
Not All Of Them Are Black
Night pout to white morning.
Paths are like bosom of the
Albinek Royal path
to the sense is softer.
I put out corks from the corner of my eyes.
You can smell watter on the coat,
and earth is bowing to the scearm.
Comments about this poem (Not All Of Them Are Black by I.F. Kobjelska )
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