perjantai 17. marraskuuta 2023

ON THE THREE HUNDREDTH AND FOURTEENTH DAY OF THE YEAR

You write a poem about angels,
colossal and comforting, when
you see before you only dead
pigeons, with broken wings.

Death took them, and now
they look like they never lived,
the colossal and comforting
angels in your poem.

17.11.2023


#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse

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