The old dream

Always in the old dream she walks in

autumn’s grey paths, by her long legs

are swirling leaves, and we are young

in the world, but surely our paths will

soon meet, for why must her breasts

remain like bulbs that wait for spring?

 

(Julian O’Dea)

Advertisements

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

%d bloggers like this: