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My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.

Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker of
The sour lemon moon.

While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green, and tart,
Droops upon its wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.


Submitted by Venus

Added: 24 Jun 2002 | Last Read: 7 Sep 2008 5:21 AM | Viewed: 7691 times

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