Friday, 23. March 2007
An Ode From The Lost
I am with the lost
Lying in the trenches and minefields.
Poppies and dust fill my mouth. Rain and snow become the sacramental wine of my world.
But even here the memory of you Is as insistent within me as the sighing of plane trees (Those trees by the narrow straits that I heard you praise to the skies) In these blustery spring nights.
My Poems
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