- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Evening Hillside
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Click hereThe friendly peace of the Games is done.
The sickles have cut herbs, the scythes grasses.
All lie in wait, drying, having been mown.
While the silent Hay Moon passes.
I lie beneath its silvery light,
My future walking through my mind,
Dozing, breathing in the summer night,
I worry over what I've left behind.
Task and plans, being always left undone,
While I stare at the Moon, sleep through the Sun.
- COMMENTS
LeBrozover 16 years agoThis poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 38,500 poems.
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