Harp lady

Joanna has such a surprisingly suffocating voice,
What is she not letting go of?
Is It her own mystically magical self?
Or something that I shouldn't know of?

Yes, she plays the harp with some skill,
Is that the agility of her fingers?
Or is it what happens in that infinitesimal moment,
In which her each thought lingers?

And I feel like the flower that blossoms,
When it’s touched by the dewdrops in her tears.
Is it in the fragile way she pierces into my soul?
Or is it just those peaches, plums and pears?

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.


Post a Comment


This content comes from a hidden element on this page.

The inline option preserves bound JavaScript events and changes, and it puts the content back where it came from when it is closed.

Click me, it will be preserved!