White Dove
A white dove glides past my daybreak panorama.
It appears suddenly paused between two colossal
Spiraling pillars of gold crested cloudbursts.
A stammering balm of supinity dawns upon me.
White Dove
A white dove glides past my daybreak panorama.
It appears suddenly paused between two colossal
Spiraling pillars of gold crested cloudbursts.
A stammering balm of supinity dawns upon me.
PamelaALamppa commented on White Dove
10-07-2009
10/11/2009
Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.
T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.
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