Secret Tears Poem by james watkin

Secret Tears



Table lamp's moth, or moon, maybe
Inspect our secret tears.
What in deathly quiets give
A recount of lost years.

Page-ran, and inscribed with them
The diarist's, as a rule.
Or dews on grass, park's hunched o'er.
Airs, still warm, ridicule.

Thursday, June 10, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: tears
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james watkin

james watkin

Melbourne Australia
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