Of Thought, The Sadder Poem by james watkin

Of Thought, The Sadder



Framed in its broodings' cave
Unresponsive - ever!
A green twilit world's drip
Its victim's viewing strip.

Tracked as far out Ireland's
Rocks' jag, wailed over.
Where moon's necromancy
Scales stone-dead piety.

Friday, August 30, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: sad,thought
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
james watkin

james watkin

Melbourne Australia
Close
Error Success