Monalisa's Musing
Read my naked soul overflowing,
With poetry before its’ late,
As eternity, ah! I am knocking,
Yet on every heart’s door holding,
A bowl empty and still is I am,
Visible to thine eyes, but day one,
That mist from above the sky,
Shall carry me on its chariot,
To the farthest lands, perchance then,
Thy hands will hold the rotten pages,
Lying
somewhere as dirt, spilling my verses,
Alas! Only that thud on thy doors with,
Fingers
once those were fragile and bled,
Shall
not disturb thy worldly sleep!
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