Nye* - Poem by s./j. goldner
my lips are the berries—my eyes the leaves
on your mistletoe above the doorstep;
her lips are the ash from the fireplace
when they are pressed against yours.
*abbreviation for new year's eve
Comments about Nye* by s./j. goldner
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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