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Old 03-12-2009, 10:38 AM   #11 (permalink)
moondust
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Join Date: Mar 2009
Posts: 15
Default A poem

Up here, with June, the sycamore throws
Across the window a whispering screen;
I shall miss the sycamore more I suppose,
Than anything else on this earth that is out in green.
But I mean to go through the door without fear,
Not caring much what happens here
When I’m away: --
How green the screen is across the panes
Or who goes laughing along the lanes
With my old lover all the summer day.

Last edited by moondust; 03-12-2009 at 10:54 AM.
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