John Lars Zwerenz
Comments about John Lars Zwerenz
I wove my verses in a cluster of purple stars,
While dreaming on the meadow in the tender, April rain.
A mendicant, I wandered to the outskirts of the plain,
And I slept in the glow of a campfire's bars.
I awoke to the vast, blond horizon,
To dahlias, daisies, roses, to aromatic fleur-de-lis;
In my black sailor's coat, I arose to symphonies;
And at night I roved the Acheron.