Poezie
Ride A White Swan
History Of Music Part XIX
1 min lectură·
Mediu
From afar stars glance down
upon pitch dark waters
and that lamp
made of rice paper
masquerading as the moon.
One sound only,
from the throats of frogs.
A squirrels keen eyes
penetrate the sky.
You, white swan,
glide silently forth.
Marc Bolan is on his way.
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