Do me that love
As a tree, tree
Where birds and wind
Sing though they know
How real night is
And no one can
Go on for long
In any way
Do me that love
Do me that love
As the rain, rain
That has voices
In it, the greats’
And fools’, poor dead
From old weathers–
Lives considered
And rejected
As ours will be.
The rain comes down
And flowers grow
On the graves of
Our enemies
Do me that love
We're all on a road to somewhere.
My poetry is my religion.
poetry by Robert Ford
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👍 very nicely done
Glad you like it.
Whew wish I’d written this one. Lovely
Yes, I agree.
Profoundly beautiful in its simplicity. Does this style of poem have a name or category…only three to four words per line.
I don’t know, Michael. Perhaps someone else will answer your question.
Breathtaking!
I agree.
Appreciate your response!
You’re welcome, Michael.