What can you bring?
What can be brought,
from the four corners,
home.
How can you stand,
covered in the filth
of too many roads,
before my white halls.
I can not wash you with waters
gone dry.
I can not warm you with fires
gone cold.
You will not find the echo
of your name.
I can feed you only ashes.
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Author:
Jabberwocky (
Offline) - Published: September 4th, 2018 03:28
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 26
- Users favorite of this poem: Lorna
Offline)
Comments2
Whoa! This was superb Jabberwocky...........
Thanks Lorna.
A very strong write.
Thanks, as always:)
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