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A Lost Widow

Black night with deep silence
Cockroaches have bends in their whiskers
Rat proliferates in the dank store house
Making noises in their pointed tails
Beating against baskets of chaffs;
Lost in the dream of youth the old man
Snores sounding as waterfalls;
The wooden cot bearing his frame
As if a mass of cloud does the moon;
Billowing wind owes a breath

To the hiccupping woman on the floor;
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Saturday, April 19, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: life
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8/2/2021 4:50:48 AM # 1.0.0.666