OPUS 101
That’s me that blocks your vision on a night.
And creeps in creepy hollows of your fright.
My hair is gray and weary of your sight,
Yet covers up the blemishes and blight.
I sneak into the corners of the room.
So many know me by my gloom.
Send down the ships and sailors to their doom.
Dull, dank, and nasty-cold of tomb!
Cold reputation, wet with rain, I got.
Sometimes so chill, I cause the blood to clot.
My essence hides the evil and the rot
And makes reality so hard to spot.
Yet often, as the morning sun does blaze,
I come apart and disappear away.
Fade darkness and the shadows into day,
And watch the winter children at their play.
Steven B. Taylor
February 12,1999
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem