There is only one thing I fear--- That in the end, I shall smell like an old woman: The smell of disuse; The smell of dry earth And dryer bones; The smell of a house Kept not quite clean Through indifference And lassitude; The smell of banishment To an unswept corner With the crumbs Of somebody elses feast. I wish to always smell of The mud of Spring, Fecund and waiting to bring forth; Mowed grass and sheets, Snapping on a brisk Summer breeze; Burning leaves and burning desire To learn all things, Real and imaginary; Anything good to eat And waiting to be consumed With eyes and ears and heart.
Posted on: Sun, 09 Mar 2014 01:37:43 +0000
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