Revisiting
The nomadic
Landscape
Of his youth
He observes
Twenty years too late
Migrant birds
Flying south —
He sees
Himself now:
As History
Will see him once:
A nameless
Statue
In a weed-filled
Park
Hopelessly bearing
A burden of crows.
By continuing to use the site, you agree to the use of cookies. more information
The cookie settings on this website are set to "allow cookies" to give you the best browsing experience possible. If you continue to use this website without changing your cookie settings or you click "Accept" below then you are consenting to this.
This piece imparts to the reader a lingering bouquet of existential angst and a certain note of ennui.
Thank you,Louis.