between two tall skeletons of birches
i walk right into the heart of mid-autumn
with the city gate as my starting point
but without any predetermined destination
along a less frequently trodden trail
i keep traveling behind my own soul
each time I climb onto a little ridge
i see another higher up just ahead
it is not a question of uphill or downhill
nor a choice between two different roads
once standing on the peak to look back
i find all mountains so surprisingly small
End of the poem
15 random poems
- Robert Burns: Such A Parcel Of Rogues In A Nation:
- Testament by Wendell Berry
- Indian Summer by William Ellery Leonard
- Eating a Wampee by Piera Chen
- Юнна Мориц – Зейдер-Зее
- athens_stone_of_sapphire_of_ground_the_ring.html
- Companions by Siegfried Sassoon
- Face To Face by Rabindranath Tagore
- Владимир Маяковский – Счастье искусств
- Sleep
- hoppity.html
- Refrigerator, 1957 by Thomas Lux
- The Hock-cart, or Harvest Home by Robert Herrick
- Gift Of The Great – English Translation by Rabindranath Tagore
- Summer poem – Alexander Pope
Some external links:
Duckduckgo.com – the alternative in the US
Quant.com – a search engine from France, and also an alternative, at least for Europe
Yandex – the Russian search engine (it’s probably the best search engine for image searches).
