Sing, o, Goddess...
(Sing, o, Goddess…)
Isn’t it that you are full of rage against your own Hand when she writes this poem?
A thought leads you to Maria Antoinette’s guillotine …
They will send it home, bleeding in a sentimental bandage.
You haven’t anything else to do but to organize some funeral with a lot of guests.
poem by Horatiu Stamatin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
