Is It Poetry
You sleep I hear singing and water coming.
I indissoluble make it out each continent.
The shape of each desire when open, I do.
Glammer such most in fluid element clear
never forcing each days competition.
The sun being when it rains full illuminated.
You I make full of God magnetic when with her Hand.
Life and of love and the colleague of the colleague is love.
As for me I sigh as I watch all the rivers of America bank there over,
and the whole of the grassy brown plains made this more green
with each brand new arrivale lush feel such plants.
Thickly as a coastal Great Lakes spring from wood.
Separated impossibly thick hidden from the banks are the cities.
Democracy of your this Trilling and O, to be against it useful,
femme of femme that mother!
Because of you,
and as for me once again I feel the sound the birds
flying over me, they are singing, trilling.
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Comments about this poem (Trilling by Is It Poetry )
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933)
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