Looking Out a Window
I am sitting here,
looking out a window,
writing this poem,
the fewest words I know
to say what cannot be said.
I want to give this poem away,
I do,
but it will not leave me,
now a kind of
perfume in the air,
lingering
like a lover
who does not want to go.
Shall I give this poem to you, my friend?
Will you accept it?
And if you should choose to say yes,
here is my humble request:
please gaze at something today
just a little bit longer than you normally would.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at January 25, 2022 03:07 PM
Post a comment
Thanks for signing in, . Now you can comment. (sign out)
(If you haven't left a comment here before, you may need to be approved by the site owner before your comment will appear. Until then, it won't appear on the entry. Thanks for waiting.)
