(Poem #285 on new numbering scheme)
The moon's dull disk, above, now seems unreasonably gold. The teeth of time's wheels make me feel unseasonably old.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.
(Poem #285 on new numbering scheme)
The moon's dull disk, above, now seems unreasonably gold. The teeth of time's wheels make me feel unseasonably old.
– a quatrain in ballad meter.