My hands slid through the woolen clothes,
Their touch soft upon my fingers
And I put them in the baggage.
Therein they rested tender.
When I opened my stifled room a new air hit upon my face, I checked to see whether all was in its place,
When I left, the front door screeched and
The cat brushed all over my feet,
My dog howled right at the sky,
I was leaving for a bit.
Soon home will be left,
The world will lie ahead.
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Comments about this poem (Departure by Tedara Mavrodiev )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
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- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
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