I wait for you
ready to leap at you
from every corner
at every turn
gathered to spring at you
from the shadow
of every tree
this is an ambush
but I am not the assassin
I wait, not with a knife,
but love, heavy, dripping in my hands.
love still waiting here with not a knife but with a heart grief!
but I am not the assassin I wait, not with a knife, but love, heavy, dripping in my hands. lovely poem. tony
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice one.. Thank you Francisco