I was a steam in a fog,
With a spinning head,
I rose up, up,
higher
- beyond the blackening tops.
I had eyes and a tongue.
Caught a very last glimpse
of your neck,
and that twinkle of pearl in your ear.
Then you looked the other way and curtains blew in the wind.
This was last that I saw,
when I turned into steam.
And I rose up, up.
YOU ARE READING
Tales from Children Gone
PoesíaThank you for visiting my page! I am so happy to share with you some of my work, and to hear your thoughts on it. This set of poems is an imagist work that speaks to coming of age and the fears of childhood that is inevitably ending. Some of these p...
