from my window
a fire is dying in the night
upon the bare and windswept heath
shadows flare with sparks awry
tangle dervish in a wreath
above the ashes of my life
a fire is dying in the night
as soon the blood within me dies
upon the bare and windswept heath
shadows flare with sparks awry
tangle dervish in a wreath
above the ashes of my life
a fire is dying in the night
as soon the blood within me dies
posted by heelers | 2:16 AM
2 Comments:
Are you sad? You seem sad?
You think Heelers seems sad.
Think how I felt when I discovered he was ripping off my poetry.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Post a Comment
<< Home