Days By The Seashore - Poem by Ghost Legend
What is man if not a shadow of himself,
And a shadow of every measure dealt
In sculpturing his torso's timely welts?
What is woman if not a mere seam
To be reminisced, stitched in memory
Appropriately where fashion dwells?
That is why all is swell;
That is why all we waltz—
We are all shells of ourselves,
Lying by the seashore.
Comments about Days By The Seashore by Ghost Legend
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