Down the slope she strides with an easy gait
taking in changes erupting monochromatic
with the verdant as vibrant
as any sweet sprig of spring's eternal emerald
now she paints it chrome silver
singing its' jangly folkloric lyric
reserved for blindingly blue days
next to approach will be the white
cold beard scrounging through the bricks
during festivals of blood and wine
pmpope 2011
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment