Gardens of leadA Poem by Florin Dragoș Minculescu
Some are born for lumber,
Some are farmers, Others are healing, or engineering, Mothers and fathers many are, too. Long life or short ones, We all have a meaning. Some are enjoying, Many denying. Few are just watchers. Scrutinizing meaning of meanings, Stripping layer after layer, Immovability path, backwards they take. One is observing. Guiding the watchers, Through gardens of lead, For a one be melted in One. © 2022 Florin Dragoș Minculescu |
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1 Review Added on February 3, 2022 Last Updated on February 3, 2022 AuthorFlorin Dragoș MinculescuBucharest, Sector 2, RomaniaAboutI got something to say about the silence from within. more..Writing
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