comes not say


over the shadow

shake a hand so

I like a wet bird

bears my people

slap name into

received aand star

I have thit on a map

very old

wich howth howls of wolves

hiena put their

smelling like snout

the taste of blood

(three drops petrified

as our tongues)

by Dorina Neculce

Other poems of NECULCE (74)

Comments (1)

Youth and its ways - we all remember those days