The Country House
Did the door move, or was it always ajar?
The gladioli on the table are pale mauve.
I smell pale mauve and blue,
Blue soft like bruises-putrid-oozing-
The air oozes blue-mauve-
And the door with the black line where it does not shut!
I must pass that door to go to bed,
Or I must stay here
And watch the crack
Oozing air.
Is it-air?
Amy Lowell
The copyright of the poems published here are belong to their poets.
Internetpoem.com is a non-profit poetry portal. All information in here has been published only for educational and informational purposes.