Washed Up Tablecloth Poem by Francis Tikava
Washed Up Tablecloth
My single purpose has come to an end,
And yet I continue to work.
My tattered wrinkled self intends,
To finish free of murk.
To end my time with sunny rays,
Gleaming through my rips and tears,
Reminding me of younger days,
Stories I shall surely share.
Alas for now I remain here,
Hanging off a bench,
Releasing now and then a tear,
My thirst will never be quenched.
indeed a nice poem...nice words..good flow..i like the poem..high marks...i like it keep it up..please read my poems
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 11:18:00 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Wonderful. It's very good.