Classic poem of the day
V
I
Dead, long dead,
Long dead!
And my heart is a handful of dust,
And the wheels go over my head,
And my bones are shaken with pain,
For into a shallow grave they are thrust,
Only a yard beneath the street,
And the hoofs of the horses beat, beat,
The hoofs of the horses beat,
Beat into my scalp and my brain,
With never an end to the stream of passing feet,
Driving, hurrying, marrying, burying,
Clam......
Member poem of the day
I been able to call her glory.
That was my private story.
It makes me feel proud.
Bad feelings away - no doubt.
I used that color blue.
It was my sign for true.
Then I put on her lips color red.
Then I left tiara on her head.
That was my private story.
Story wich i called glory.
The painting wich brings me light.
Now I left it on your side.
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