Beth Grant


Heaven and Hell meet to form the bowels of the Earth. I touch my hand to the ground, releasing my soul to the middle. The sun burns from above, the water cools from below, the gentle wind arbitrates my fate.

written 1994

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Add this poem to MyPoemList

Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings
rate this poem

Comments about Wind by Beth Grant

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?