Sunday, 10. June 2007
A Question
Lying in grass, the spring chill barely
kept out by the thin jacket in which we are
half covered, half exposed, my arms wrapped
around your waist, a shade of crabapple blossom,
I wonder if that boy, who gazed at the lumbering rainclouds through the thorny neredu tree, located in that faraway plateau country, many years ago ever even thought he would come to this season?
My Poems
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