Emptiness

There was no magic flute
To pipe his way,
Though he had far to go.
No sunset wanderings,
In the end.
No mound, no grave, no sign
That he was here.
But oh...the empty space,
It was hard for us to know.
In reaching out...
No hand to grasp.

by Maxinne Morris

Other poems of MAXINNE MORRIS (4)

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.