The Same Place Poem by david cozzolongo
The Same Place
The wind plays with the tree droppings
They look like little worms or lighting bugs dancing
On the /Whats a Muse
Why can I write when certain sounds come on.
what am I writing about Does the sound burrow into my heart
The dancing leaves on the branches
Friday, July 23, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: muse,branches,leaves,tree,wind
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8/7/2026 7:42:15 AM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
