twelfth night, awaiting
Olivia: 'Why, what would you? '
Viola: 'Make me a willow cabin at your gate
And call upon my soul within the house . . .'
Shakespeare, Twelfth Night
~
therein it lies
quietly
awaiting
it is not black
it is not sad
it is, awaiting
it is not cold
it is not bleak
it is, awaiting
there is the sun
at night the moon
and distantly, the sea
there is the surf, awaiting
and you, awaiting
`
Poetry by one trick pony

Read 57 times
Written on 2023-06-08 at 16:15




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