Huckelberry Poem by Foster Blaine
Huckelberry
Of the drink, he learned
that there was no bottom
to the glass, just a bottom
to himself which he could
only glimpse in the bottom
of the glass, which was not
there.
If the river were whiskey,
he'd have no need for rivers.
He'd see where land sticks, rivers
turn, and far off shores would call
from where there was no river
for him to come, if he could,
there.
read through this a handful of times now, it gets better every time, great stuff. ben
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 3:55:25 AM # 1.0.0.1119
A profound first verse, stunningly human imagery. Smiling at you Tai