Get Your Premium Membership

A Holy Hope

Bags Of Rice In my Courtyard The One I Struggled Lost to the capriciousness The nest of the fuddle Nightingale- A Suspicious Saying of the sage. So sonorous is this Whistle That passes by IF not covetousness It will be inclined. Memory of the past Archimedes, Aristotle and many Memory drained superlative subservient. A Holy race So secured everywhere.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2013




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.


Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry