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March |
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a poem by Ross Vassilev
daisy
the winter sun going down
over the rooftops
like a dying warrior
a little blonde girl runs by
maybe 7 or 8 years old
I hear my neighbor talking
with someone on the phone
he's an old man
running for the grave
some day even
that little girl will be
kissing the roots of the daisies
or filling some urn with her ashes
and she'll be replaced
by new little girls
everything passes
like the sun going down
then coming back up
in the glorious dawn.
over the rooftops
like a dying warrior
maybe 7 or 8 years old
with someone on the phone
running for the grave
that little girl will be
kissing the roots of the daisies
or filling some urn with her ashes
by new little girls
then coming back up
in the glorious dawn.