Sample Text: |
The Cyclists
Leaves hap the side of the road
a fiery crumpled quilt.
We freewheel into it
scattering scraps of yellow, bronze, red.
Feet on handlebars, arms stretched wide
to the late summer sun,
we scream our schoolgirl ballads
‘Santa Lucia-a-a-a’, Tor-r-n’ a Sorriento’.
Peewits answer across stony banks;
the river glints icy, reflecting
the snow-capped Bens.
This is the last time we will hurl our song
careless into the ether;
but we don’t know this now.
|
Back to Publications page