Alight On My Hand Poem by james watkin
Alight On My Hand
Just a plain old hand, aired; hung out
One sunned day, too impassioned.
Discreetly shaded hydrangea;
After who's one leaf fashioned.
Come, butterfly. Heat-stricken bird.
Dear heart, nervous, a-flutter.
Its softness, cool, unshakeable
To lie thereon. Recover.
Wednesday, August 17, 2022
Topic(s) of this poem: hands
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5/10/2024 8:52:56 PM # 1.0.0.1119
