WHAT’S NEEDED
What’s needed
is water
and dark
moving to a time
as slow as roots
in a well
where silvered fish
swim
in a dream
of knowing
not caught
but foreseen.
Showing posts with label W.B. Yeats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label W.B. Yeats. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
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