Glory Poem by Iris Balgaire
Glory
Rating: ★4.8
I want to love a poet.
To love their callused palms,
And worn fingers,
And their eyes,
Are timeworn and frigid,
But oh their mind,
What a heavenly place to be.
Within the curve of their lips,
And sharpness of speech,
With breathes so light,
And to watch their lungs grow
And fall
Is a glory in itself
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Topic(s) of this poem: love and art
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4/18/2024 9:52:50 PM # 1.0.0.1119
This poem should be any poet's delight, to read and to savour. Very well written. If I may know, what makes you think that a poet's palms be 'calloused'?