Sketches In Coal Poem by Satish Verma
Sketches In Coal
Where sand becomes
silver, you cower
under a palm.
A birch tree
beacons you to write
the fall of man.
All day you wait
for a miracle.
It never happens.
This autum, I will
worship a naked tree.
A toast for dying moon.
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/5/2024 3:34:52 PM # 1.0.0.1119
