Lying

The heiress comes back to  a rich table
With dew on feet from a garden wood.
Her unopened future may be holding

A surprise or two like sweet love letter.
But stillness is such that it is just lying.

After reading a poem Still Life by Elizabeth Daryush (1887-1977)

Advertisements
This entry was posted in poems and tagged .

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s