Nonnet: "Bones"
Cliff high on the bay washed in pale white
where the sea laps at the dull rocks
where you and I used to stay,
but the seasons do change.
Now, you rest your bones
somewhere so far
away from
my own
bones.
YOU ARE READING
Noisy World (ᴘᴏᴇᴛʀʏ)
PoetryI've never claimed to be a poet; I've only ever claimed that I'd try.
