The Wingless Gallop
The fly in Me gallops in the steps of (a) Be(es)
In a snowy morning shouting "let me be''
The green borders of truth melting on April's knee
For heaven is within the reach of the poor wet coulds
Which relate their last liquid secrets aloud
O man , the attic of your marrow is nowhere
Out of the dome of your eager soul
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
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.