I thought you were a ghost
when I first saw you hovering there,
ethereal and vaporous.
You were lost,
you wore wisteria in your hair,
diaphanous.
You crossed
the street and we sat there
as I waited for the bus.
In your gypsy dress you tossed
your skirts with flare,
beauteous.
I stood up to see
if my bus was in sight
and when I glanced back
all I saw was a sprig of wistera.
Your absence
haunts me.
Your absence haunts me. Indeed. Seeing absence and hearing silence. poetry is not a language; it is a meta-language. A very fine work.
This is an excellent poem! I have seen plenty of those girls. After seeing them disappear, all you do is dream. Very well done, Sonny! A ten.
those moments when they happen stay watering the thirsty soul for years while decades flash by in a blur a wonderful poem
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There was the disconnect in the poem, and the last lines summed it all up. Loved your style! Preets