To a Painting of Echo
Foolish artist, why must you sketch my face
And hound a goddess eyes cannot detect?
I am the daughter born of Speech and Space,
Babble's mother, a voiceless intellect.
I snatch a word before it disappears
Then mimic mindlessly what I have found.
I am Echo--I live within your ears.
If you believe you can paint me, paint sound.
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Comments about this poem (To a Painting of Echo by AM Juster )
- I am gajananmishra, gajanan mishra
- Winter, Neela Nath
- How wonder, gajanan mishra
- Fortunate enough, hasmukh amathalal
- To Bob Whelan on Discussing Pablo Neruda, Bill Grace
- Intense drive, hasmukh amathalal
- My totality, gajanan mishra
- The Other Side Of The Story, mary douglas
- Journey end, hasmukh amathalal
- Phantasies Only Relief, Numbing (me), Lonely Voyager
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