DroneA Poem by Leslie Philibert
death of an innocent
The morning thick with heat and dust,
as a small boy sits on a doorstep,
his mother making tea for his father`s guests
who talk in soft voices, he dreams
of his land as a place of peace, the hope
he carries in his young head, but
there is no birdsong, no crickets, the
village dogs lost in the day`s hard light
as if the morning is untimely,
something wrong he will never understand.
© 2012 Leslie Philibert
Shelved in 1 LibraryAdded on July 4, 2012
Last Updated on July 4, 2012
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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