ChildA Poem by Leslie Philibert
For Dylan Thomas
He passes through different rooms
Each with its own quality of light
He burns small sticks.
He waddles through glorious muck
His big black boots
turning sideways as they will.
He thinks he has killed time.
On the edge of paradise he throws stones at tins.
And pushes his tongue through a broken smile.
© 2011 Leslie Philibert
Shelved in 2 LibrariesAdded on December 9, 2011
Last Updated on December 9, 2011
AboutI`m not important. I just want to write a couple of good poems. Just read what I write. That`s enough. more..
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