“In me is a little painted square Bordered by old shops, with gaudy awnings. And before the shops sit smoking, open-bloused old men, Drinking sunlight. The old men are my thoughts: And I come to them each evening, in a creaking cart, And quietly unload supplies. We fill slim pipes and chat, And inhale scents from pale flowers in the center of the square . . .” ThinkingPoetryPoemThoughtsAgingOld Age Book:Minna and Myself Source: Minna and Myself
“For me, poetry is an impish attempt to paint the colour of the wind.” PoetryWindPaintColourPoetry Is Author:Maxwell Bodenheim
