The Original Countenance Poem by james watkin
The Original Countenance
Beneath this our earthly face
Of clay, woeful flooded
Gleaming, god-like its classic bust
As of living marble.
Time-blown, now buried more deep;
Autumn-crinkly, o'erspread.
Toppled, fell out that high place of
Olympian fable?
Sunday, March 12, 2023
Topic(s) of this poem: face,spirit
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5/5/2024 5:00:38 AM # 1.0.0.1119
