Tag Archives: Robert Burns

love poem

.. this poem is that red, red rose that summer’s day the craving of mouth, voice, hair ………….(silent and staring) those cloudless climes and starry skies …………………….(dying, disappearing.) more thicker than forget, it’s counting the ways those moments of glad … Continue reading

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This is Just to Say

(a triolet) .. Oh, love is not a summer’s day, for winter comes quite quickly. Yes, plums get bruised and roses fade. Oh, love is not a summer’s day. Huzzah, now let us count the ways, some things regretted thickly. … Continue reading

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