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sandra wyllie
Poems
Sep 2021
How Many Times
can you sell me
the same lines? They sound
like music as you say
them. But the music stops,
as I play them back to you.
How many times
can I weep
over a cold, hard stone
I thought once a
pillow? But I lay my head on
a heaving billow.
How many times
can I say you'll turnaround? Only to
the stillness of dead air and the weight
of a fiery glare.
Written by
sandra wyllie
56/F
(56/F)
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