Aleksandra Posted May 3, 2010 Share Posted May 3, 2010 A single seed or stone can become a poem. Here the hardpan calls my name. I am under the same tree where my grandfather rested his tired legs. I walk down to the river where my grandmother and her mother washed clothes. How much my eyes can see on this simple day of May! Alone, I stare at the taciturn, carefree field. Quote The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau History of Macedonia Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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