IN EXILE
after In der Fremde by Heinrich Heine
I once had a place to call my own,
I went there for the peace,
to see the crawl of the trees
and watch flowers grow for me.
It was a dream.
But it touched me as if it were mine,
spoke to me as if I owned it,
loved as if it were real
and brought breath for me.
It was a dream.
HOMESCHOOLING MOTHER OF 5, ALL THINGS DOMESTIC, MY CRAZY LIFE
Book Recommendations and Reviews
unreliable writings/ramblings
(Somewhat) Daily News from the World of Literary Nonfiction
It's always about writing...
Author of Angels & Adultery
"Traveling MarLa"
Writing about reading
Writer * Reader * Editor
The website of fiction writer Anthony Martin
Poetry, Education, Research
Corey Mesler
polyaesthetically being in the world...
Just another WordPress.com site
(The poetry blog of Grant Clauser)
Just another WordPress.com site
a roominghouse for the servants of the duende.
Leave a Reply