The Book That Bled Poem by Jesse Kloos
The Book That Bled
The final petal said you love me not,
And mournfully I knew this must be true,
And so I hid it in a book by Yeats,
Then placed it on a shelf high out of view;
Where healing time could bandage it with dust,
And bind with webs my memories of you.
Then after many years had passed us by,
I opened up the book and watched it shed,
A crimson drop of petal to the floor,
And marveled how it was still vivid-red;
I knew then, like my love, it could not fade,
And hid it back inside the book that bled.
Hello Jesse! I think that Yeats would jave marveled at your poem. It is beautiful, so cleverly written and touching. Perfectly cobayructed, as always. I love tge crimson drop of oetal.
Thank you for your kind words, Laurie. It is always a motivation when fellow writers give positive feedback. And thank you for sharing your lovely poem. I think we had the same idea when writing these.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 1:46:31 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Your poem reminded me of this one I wrote years ago. It's nor a patch on yours, but it carries a similar feeling. I wonder I wonder if one day I’ll be able to read you these lines that I write I wonder if one day In the mountains I will tell you these lines out loud Yes I wonder if one evening Right next to the fire, right next to you I will whisper these words in your ear Or, will I one day retrieve this little book All yellowed with age And smile sadly For one reason Or another? (translated from French, Stellenbosch, September 1990)