To Dorothy
by Marvin Bell
You are not beautiful, exactly.
You are beautiful, inexactly.
You let a weed grow by the mulberry
And a mulberry grow by the house.
So close, in the personal quiet
Of a windy night, it brushes the wall
And sweeps away the day till we sleep.
A child said it, and it seemed true:
“Things that are lost are all equal.”
But it isn’t true. If I lost you,
The air wouldn’t move, nor the tree grow.
Someone would pull the weed, my flower.
The quiet wouldn’t be yours. If I lost you,
I’d have to ask the grass to let me sleep.
End of the poem
15 random poems
- Вера Полозкова – Да что у меня, нормально всё, так, условно
- Stalker poem – Alice Notley
- The Fairies Break Their Dances poem – A. E. Housman
- Toward Salvation
- The Wicked Postman by Rabindranath Tagore
- Sleep
- The Titanic poem – Aleister Crowley poems | Poetry Monster
- The Labyrinth by W H Auden
- Morning Song by Sylvia Plath
- To Natasha poem – Alexander Pushkin
- To a Lady, Who Made Me a Present of a Silver Pen by William Somervile
- English Poetry. Richard Hovey. John Keats. Ричард Хави.
- Наум Коржавин – К моему двадцатипятилетию
- I Went Down into the Desert by Vachel Lindsay
- Song of the Exposition. by Walt Whitman
Some external links:
Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US
Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe
Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).
