Home Writing Artwork Photography About News Contact Links



Earlier she was in agony,
Now she is closer to ecstasy,
But then ,
From time to time,
In love,
Aren't we all?

Do I want to live,
To an over-ripe old age,
Worldly wise and wizen,
In a silver-plated cage,
The fabric of my home,
A chronicle of aromas?

A tramp,
In the underground grime,
Breaths life into a mouth organ,
For a few grubby coins.

Her shadow kisses the ground,
Moves without a sound,
And joins the dispersing crowd.

Our lost childhood,
Ghost of the refrain,
Strains of a lullaby,
Voices no complaint.

Copyright ©DJBurnham 1984 All Rights Reserved

Return to Poetry Index