Echo's Genesis

On this evening pure and free,
The sun is sinking below the sea.
A strand of trees and mountains blare,
While flowers trumpet in the air,
As if touched by an angel's veil.
But this is not an angels' hail:
A wind fills the cavernous mind.
An echo rings in hollow pride.
Convictions raise the mouth to dwell
On the love from whose lips I fell.

by Peter Rolny

Other poems of PETER ROLNY (2)

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