Alone

I, one who never speaks,
Listened days in summer trees,
Each day a rustling leaf.

Then, in time, my unbelief
Grew like my running -
My own eyes did not exist,
When I struck I never missed.

Noon, felt and far away -
My brain is a thousand bees.

Yvor Winters 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.