Epitaph Poem by Bozhidar Pangelov

Epitaph



the rain is getting
shorter
an hour more
a second
breath
and someone somewhere
is speaking
like a fire
speaking
exactly
lightly
clearly
similar to a vale
in which you get down
and yet you are high
or a soil
which you do not decay into
when the rain stops
may I manage
something to put down
before scattering
with the fireflies

Thursday, December 18, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: light poetry
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