The Breeze Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
The Breeze
The barely felt
but loving touch
of countless fingers.
A silent breeze
as it surrounds,
caresses
without invitation.
And lingers long
with scant regard
to who we are
and what befalls
our souls
until we're
truly dead.
And even then
it does not go,
its whispers mark
our final journey
And only after
we arrive
are we allowed
to finally know:
It is the song
of our heart.
An excellent poem herbert, said with few words in a short time Warm regards allan
this reminds me of 'song of myself' by Whitman. Excellent forray into a new form.10+
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 11:29:40 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I can't believe this only had an average of 2.8. I've given it a 10 - so it's now 3.2, still far short of what it should be...