On a tranquil afternoon, small sounds
of dry leaves, flowing tea, cups lightly touched.
Spaces form, and change each other’s shape.
Something mentioned from the past,
a name.
Someone stands
returning to the page, the work.
Softly the door closes.
Breeze moves a thin curtain.
Beyond the window, the season’s trees
shift color.
PoemWiki 评分
暂无评论 写评论