The hope a mooncalf follows
is sacrifice for slaughter,
and yet the wings of swallows
still skip across the water. 

The Official Website of the Leading Formalist Poet 

YouTube RSS
formats

The Birch

  The birch beneath My windowsill Stands like a wreath

(Read More)…

 
 Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share on Reddit Share on LinkedIn
© by Leo Yankevich
credit