Your voice, like leaves blowing,
reminds me of raked piles and falling.
It hurts now that I'm older,
what's underneath
the hard ground
with its knobs of roots and bones
rotting
my hurt feelings.
Maybe in spring your voice will turn lilting
and something different will bloom.
But for now,
I'll let the worms eat your words for you.
reminds me of raked piles and falling.
It hurts now that I'm older,
what's underneath
the hard ground
with its knobs of roots and bones
rotting
my hurt feelings.
Maybe in spring your voice will turn lilting
and something different will bloom.
But for now,
I'll let the worms eat your words for you.
so far my fave poem
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