Les Livres. Poem by Ayomide Ilori
Les Livres.
Sitting there in a vast array
all displaying every colour but grey.
Some glimmer and shimmer,
but some well pasted their expiry date.
Yet each the same,
but each yet so different.
With every leaf turned,
something new.
Tuesday, November 26, 2024
Topic(s) of this poem: colour
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8/29/2026 1:36:12 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
