Her Sanctuary

when i rest
my weary head
in her arms
the day dies down
and i find
myself again
son of a
labourer
poet of the
coffee-house
man in love
with a wondrous
woman
who sanctifies
the missing rib.
 
 

PREVIOUS POEM BY MARK ANTONY ROSSI

NETPOETS INDEX

MORE POEMS BY MARK ANTONY ROSSI