 the door of my hut sags as i sit waiting the final call of the green court, and a chilly breeze rises from the north west lifting the last few strands of my white hair and beard when the first leaves fall i will open the cask i sealed in spring in the depths of purple wine what picture will i see? |
3 comments:
that anticipation....a nice thought...!
I guess we all must open these casks. Wonderful poem.
I sense a bit of melancholy in this one. Very nicely done.
Post a Comment