The Song Poem by Rob Knetsch
The Song
Raindrops keep falling
down and down on the desert sand
too dry, too hot to absorb the water
a thick film is formed, sliding down
the sandhills where gravity creates
mud
On my head
the sun is burning away the last hairs
while my skin burns as red as a boiled
lobster in a pot, the brain melts and is
getting laced with many citations of the
song
"The song" © 2014 Rob Knetsch
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 5:22:23 PM # 1.0.0.1119
