Dust Poem by Ryan Pleasance
Dust
It lays upon the table with such grace;
only to be disturbed without a trace;
for i am not one to disturb the peace;
nor am i one to bring out a crease.
but dust sits upon a table,
and i sit unable.
if only a trace of grace could touch;
only if i had such;
such dexterity to believe;
and the strengh to heave.
But i am not dust;
i can't be so just
but i must.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 12:21:53 PM # 1.0.0.1119
