in these fields the bones of poets
slumber undisturbed
by the passing centuries
which pay to them no care
nor do the throngs that rustle by
in all their hustled days
yet still the bones of poets
dream the years away.
in these fields the bones of poets
slumber undisturbed
by the passing centuries
which pay to them no care
nor do the throngs that rustle by
in all their hustled days
yet still the bones of poets
dream the years away.
