Six A.M. Poem by Sally Plumb Plumb
Six A.M.
There are times
when waking
she thinks
death has brushed
by her
in the night.
Teasing with cold,
colourles,
slow wings
a quaking heart
still blood beating.
Heavily,
through its thickening
veins, the fatigue
of lifes history advances.
Lazy, as
sleep drifting,
old age creeps
each morning
without warning
of its impediments.
She drinks vermouth.
Early.
Sally Plumb
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 8:30:31 PM # 1.0.0.1119
May be things are replay of the things to come..............One day our real mate- the death- will come and take it in his arms to abode of peace and bliss.........good write.
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