B: Vii: The Glove - Poem by Douglas Scotney
In the beginning was the love.
It oozed itself around him,
Gradually became his glove.
Warmth became addictive.
Love left for easier hands.
The glove stayed on for summer-
The sweat! that he got into
For fear a misplaced glove would mean
A cold and loveless winter.
Comments about B: Vii: The Glove by Douglas Scotney
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You