The Busker Poem by Amy Sutton
The Busker
Beneath the beanie
And stolen raincoat
Hides golden-glow,
Summer apple skin,
Dew-drop, sky-split eyes,
Velvet, breath-warm,
Ebony hair,
And wings
In slings.
Gloved hands
Clutch at the memory
Of a harp.
Through siren-traffic
Rush-hour busy-busy,
And the January sales stampede,
Golden music wends
Melting the slush
And warming small smiles.
In a winter doorway,
Spring blooms.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/15/2024 7:36:27 AM # 1.0.0.1119
