Song Of The Swan Poem by Barbara Mitchell
Song Of The Swan
It wasn't always so, that love, the leech,
sucked this slow.
Full fast at first it battened on,
swelled like an aria sung to the poem
'We Were Young'.
But, blood clots sick
in the yearning caves of a loveless heart.
We grow to strangeness
and far apart.
Silence is loud with old angers
- glances are sharpened darts.
Oh, how I hate you now!
You, fallen idol,
are the cooling fever on my brow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/25/2024 9:25:01 AM # 1.0.0.1119
