The usual prose came easy,
The words flowed in tune;
To notes of a little rhapsody,
A little sonnet of my own.
It is a block that prevails,
As a Spring night shivers cold.
No notes make sense,
No rhapsody ...
Just silence.
The words flowed in tune;
To notes of a little rhapsody,
A little sonnet of my own.
It is a block that prevails,
As a Spring night shivers cold.
No notes make sense,
No rhapsody ...
Just silence.




No comments:
Post a Comment