English | Spanish | French | German | Portuguese| Italian

autumn poetry

porque são as coisas que não têm nenhuma morte
sob a lua da colheita
em números mournful
sono, irmão cinzento da morte
mundo que muda sob minha mão
o sol pisou para baixo de seu throne dourado
a fragrância veio
eu disse, mim fechei meu coração
embora eu sou pouco como todas as coisas pequenas
estes sejam
com os olhos meek, marrons
é frequentemente não assim?

 



Poetry news via Google, MSN, and Yahoo!

  • Muslim country singer got his start in Iowa City (The Iowa City Press-Citizen)
  • FESTIVA: The Writer's Edition - Monitor
  • Howard Live Calendar - Baltimore Sun
  • scene at - Kwani? Niaje? - East African Standard
  • What—and Where—Is the Strategic Petroleum Reserve? - Slate
  • Update: Boy murdered in gang attack - Croydon Guardian
  • • Renaissance man: Profile of musician, astronomer Tom Good - The Grand Rapids Press - MLive.com
  • Who said, 'God grant me the serenity'? (Minneapolis-St. Paul Star Tribune)
  • 1936 book for single women still timely (The News Journal)
  • The Man in the Middle - East Hampton Star
  • Rushdie traces the roots of his latest award-winning tale (The Star)
  • Sherlock Holmes: Nemesis - Adventure Gamers
  • For Princeton, with love (The Star-Ledger)
  • Kylie turns 40 (Sydney Morning Herald)
  • Poetic justice doesn’t get much more literal than this - Las Vegas Sun
 

Refinance your Mortgage today and save!

California Mortgages

Mortgage News Archives

Poetry | Home | Contact Us | Educational Resources | Vote For This Poem | Visitor Favorites

Summer School Help Beginner Math Physics Primer Chemistry Primer Intro Psychology English Primer
Intro Grammar Beginner Writing American History American Civil War Intro Biology Composition Help


Check out El-Grande Web Directory today!


www.endlesspoetry.com ©Copyright 2004 - 2007 Michael VanDeMar All Rights Reserved