||My Body, In Its Withering
|There are surprisingly many good poems which are anonymous. These can be anonymous (unknown writer) for a variety of reasons and rarely impact upon their worth as a poem.
|My body, in its withering, may become a lovely swallow.
Under the eaves of my loved one's home I'll build my nest of twigs.
After dusk I'll fly aloft and glide gently to his side.
Other Love Poems