SCYTHE Poem by Geert van Istendael
SCYTHE
Rating: ★3.5
Iron beats iron on an iron chair,
sharpened, hardened she comes into her own,
circle segment on edge, her true aim,
the swathe she cuts, caresses and revolves.
The whetstone impresses her: be cool, be cruel.
Sandglass and bones are strangers to her,
in dew on grass she finds her element.
See her wave, running through the meadowland.
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
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4/25/2024 4:44:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
