Not A Poem Of Shakespeare, St. Joan, Or Bach - Poem by Tom Szymecko
Not a poem of Shakespeare, St. Joan, or Bach?
Only life the little, or the not?
a little bird's flight,
rythmic'lly, happily, a conductor's hand,
symphony over colored leaves,
'til blinding my sight with sheer delight.
Or those times we've known, alone,
like tiny brave flakes of snow being pushed and blown
through mountains and trees unknown,
cold and in fright 'til we touch and hold tight,
a carpet of delight,
smothered under cover - warm to us and no other.
But my tragic lip-
ill-tempered, careless look,
which you took and shattered and shook,
life's memory of me - swiftly,
like a broken wing, a melted brook;
love quick, turn back!
Oh why not a poem of Shakespeare, St. Joan, or Bach?
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You