Karen When You Call Poem by James McLain
Karen When You Call
Passion flows out..voice..
Hard you still cry..for it..
Is it still open.. the bush...
does the rose...dirt bed..
Still bloom...tracks on grass..
after three long years..dew is..
My thorn..it stayed bloody sharp..
so bloodied..little beast impaled..
You flush in song...humming birds...
that sing at dawn..hush in quiet..
Seven..July..Two Thousand Nine..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 10:14:44 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
