Fugitive

Sunlight,
Three marigolds,
And a dusky purple poppy-pod—
Out of these I made a beautiful world.
Will you have them—
Brightness,
Gold,
And a sleep with dreams?
They are brittle pleasures certainly,
But where can you find better?
Roses are not noted for endurance,
And only thirty days are June.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.