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| Poetry Please start one thread for your own poetry and just add to it! |
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06-28-2012, 08:09 PM
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#10 |
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Practically Lives Here
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Clover
by Tennessee Williams These are fragrant acres where Evening comes long hours late And the still unmoving air Cools the fevered hands of Fate. Meadows where the afternoon Hangs suspended in a flower And the moments of our doom Drift upon a weightless hour. And we who thought that surely night Would bring us triumph or defeat Only find the stars are white Clover at our naked feet. |
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