Swings Poem by Sandra Feldman
Swings
Strange,
How we communicate and don't,
We talk in riddles and rings,
Sincerity,
A fluctuating thing,
True friendship,
Does it really exists?
Or is it,
Like most everything
Just driven by interest,
Just another, temporary swing.
Always enjoyable. I find myself reading your poems over and over...pealing away the layers of meaning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 12:40:06 AM # 1.0.0.1119
"Strange, How we communicate and don't" …like these lines!