Small Birds Poem by Satish Verma
Small Birds
Blue black, the red sun
breaks into your eyes. I go crazy
running after doves.
The lake goes on fire
I collect the shells. Luxury
of becoming poor.
Carpenter will do his
job now. Declines to sit,
carves a goddess.
Wednesday, November 29, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/25/2024 7:33:57 PM # 1.0.0.1119
