Trinkets Poem by Satish Verma
Trinkets
A spotless white moon
was hiding the―
ink spilled on the apron.
*
The pretty nouns
scramble for hope―
if there was any.
*
You could not undo―
what a rose―
did, in broad daylight.
*
A town lives
under a tree, in shade.
The ants come and go.
Saturday, October 15, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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5/12/2024 3:00:17 AM # 1.0.0.1119
