Troubadour Poem by Charl JF Cilliers
Troubadour
He aims his adoration
at her window
from below: the glass
pane reflects only
the moon’s midnight
clock-face chiming.
No sight or sound
of her to answer prayer
after prayer flung
like pebbles into
empty air at an
image of her face
that isn’t there.
Monday, October 19, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: metaphysical
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4/25/2024 10:05:59 AM # 1.0.0.1119
