poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

So what use was poetry
to a white empty house?

Wolf, swan, hare,
in by the fire.

And when your tree
crashed through your house,

what use then
was all your power?

It was the use of you.
It was the flower.

Added: 25 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 6 Oct 2008 11:50 PM | Viewed: 2048 times

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