Because You Asked About the Line Between Prose and Poetry
By: Howard Nemerov
Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.
There came a moment that you couldn’t tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.
3 comments:
It does not, but I guess it doesn't really matter does it?
It's a beautiful little piece though.
How's the Hummingbird?
Played it for about 4 hours yesterday. The sound is remarkable.
Thanks for wrriting this
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