Siege

This I do, being mad:
Gather baubles about me,
Sit in a circle of toys, and all the time
Death beating the door in.

White jade and an orange pitcher,
Hindu idol, Chinese god, —
Maybe next year, when I'm richer —
Carved beads and a lotus pod. . . .

And all this time
Death beating the door in.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.