I’m not H.Longfellow, nor own an Iron pen,
My verses are feeble, but I am not a man!
With rhythms unpolished and sometimes askew,
I craft from the heart, as best know how to do.
I don’t wade through the forests of legends long passed,
Nor seek to preserve historic echoes that last.
Instead, I save shadows of whispers and sighs,
In a world full of chaos, where love simply just dies.
I’m not a great poet, nor famous, nor bright,
With ink-stained ambitions, I keep up with the light.
I’m not H.Longfellow, but my heart’s just as true,
For every small verse is from A room with a view.
written after visiting H.W.Longfellow house, MA
I am not Henry Longfellow
© Copyright: Нина Вольга, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125030408040
Свидетельство о публикации №125030408040
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