flowers on the windowsill
wilt niedopieszczone
When no one admires
quietly weeping
Messing sill
collect scraps of startling beauty
black bag itself being a guilty
When I disappear for weeks
One more
They can not lose the firmness of their petals
hours when the sun went out
buried them in zsypie
Tomorrow I go back to those weeks
not soon to me seated in a vase
0 comments:
Post a Comment