In my little heart,
I've so much grief.


In my little heart
I've so much grief,
Which keeps over
flowing like the
waves of the sea.
I've tried hard to
forget it and
get some relief.
How long can
I wait,
Days and nights,
turn like the pages,
And tumble down
like autumn leaves.
Whatever joy
comes it is only
in brief.


Poetry by g.s.vasu
Read 576 times
Written on 2006-12-10 at 09:49

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Rob Graber
This ia a graphic pooem! Interestingly, we sometimes refer to a book's pages as leaves, most often when we say "leafing through a book." Conversely though, we never call leaves (of trees) pages. (Hmm... maybe there's a poem in that...)