The House Poem by Thomas Lawrence
The House
there is this certain house
call it the beach house
a once well-worn respite,
it's quaint disrepair
no longer charms
sands that once dared
brush only up against the steps
drift indifferently over the porch and
through the half opened door
the door itself hangs nearly unhinged
much as dull-eyed prostitutes
gaze unfocused past a satiated john
passersby barely notice
and no one ever goes inside
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/6/2024 5:21:45 PM # 1.0.0.1119
