I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
Children.
Memory of old tombs,
Rotting flesh and worms do
Not convince me against
The challenge. The years
And cold defeat live deep in
Lines along my face.
They dull my eyes, yet
I keep on dying,
Because I love to live.
Join a vibrant community where authors, poets, writers, and readers unite
Read about what our members and others are saying about our Book Club
We have a great selection of books for you to maximise your reading and vocabulary practice
In The Green Mountains by Jessie Rittenhouse I dare not look away From beauty such as this,Lest, while my...
The Brook by Alfred Tennyson I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sallyAnd sparkle out among the fern,...
The Woodpecker by Elizabeth Madox Roberts The woodpecker pecked out a little round holeAnd made him a house in the...
0 Comments