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!