Old Houses with Broken Gates
by Antoinette Kopperfield — Read all 219 poems by Antoinette Kopperfield
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Words lay in books
waiting for starlight
or stardum. Transposed.
As I gather them like leaves
before a soaking rain
Crisp to the touch
though not yet soggy
A freshness-like a morning dew
like the birds chirping-
mistaken for orchestras
or like the bees buzzing-
sitting atop dandelions
And as I see my garden
it reminds me
of the colored rose
A bloom unfolding-
so beauty can once again
prevail in a weathered storm-
a lifelong present for the eye
If I were blind-
I should savor it's perfume
like love when given to a man
an arrousal of the lips
and a token for the heart-
so lonliness can never preside
in old houses with broken gates
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