With No Apology Poem by Satish Verma
With No Apology
On the mount
a broad-leaved tree was preparing
for self destruction.
It was too cold
under the sun.
A small Christmas tree
with its needle leaves
waits for the snow,
to draw a self-potrait
in bitter winter.
Snow fall makes it
gold, when rain comes
and my hand knives the moon.
Thursday, June 2, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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9/19/2024 11:30:32 AM # 1.0.0.1119
