poetry archive

at dawn, he said
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
see, from this counterfeit of him
did you ever hear of
leave the lovely words unsaid
my soul is a dark ploughed field
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
daughter, thou art come to die
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
sad are they who know not love
this is the song of youth
when, full of warm and eager love
where shall i find you