Four Seasons of My Soul
Poetry and art by Yiota Karioti
Sunday, April 10, 2011
A clear midnight, by Walt Whitman
THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best.
Night, sleep, and the stars.
Share to Twitter
Share to Facebook
Share to Pinterest
Post a Comment
Post Comments (Atom)