The White Ship (41) Poem by David McLansky
The White Ship (41)
(41) The Balcony
She moves about the planter pots
The shadowed dark forget-me-nots,
White lilies and wild eglantine
Cannot conceal, she said she’s mine.
Her sandals brush the red brick tiles
My face must wear a foolish smile
She tells me that I shouldn’t gloat,
A pouting voice, far- off, remote.
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4/26/2024 11:02:19 AM # 1.0.0.1119
