Is It Poetry
To Hang From The Mouth Of Love - Poem by Is It Poetry
Deeper than purple plums,
so warm are imbraced.
Heavy with dust in the air
it makes you sneeze.
Back from the last harvest,
two full sloshing buckets.
Shutters unlocked a wake,
lay open to reclaim them.
Coming back around and picking
the few fruit that were missed.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You