Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Efi Hatzimanolis #211 under a cloud

clouds posture and spit
think aloud, say stupid 
untrue things seem
closer than they are

6 comments:

  1. "That orbèd maiden with white fire laden,
    Whom mortals call the Moon,
    Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
    By the midnight breezes strewn;
    And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
    Which only the angels hear,
    May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
    The stars peep behind her and peer;
    And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
    Like a swarm of golden bees,
    When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
    Till calm the rivers, lakes, and seas,
    Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
    Are each paved with the moon and these."

    from The Cloud

    By Percy Bysshe Shelley

    ReplyDelete
  2. They do, don't they, and seem to be.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Ah, dear Efi, that's always the way, isn't it?

    ReplyDelete

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.