ONE
Every library is a pile of seasonal leaves;
amber-coloured pages crack
like twigs underfoot
and scent the air around my cubicle
with the arms of a young maple tree:
a crimson sentry leaning on the windowsill,
my favourite book clear as a name.
I have one life and poetry another.
- Claire Roberts 2015
1 comment:
A lovely, resonant, memorable poem.
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