poem poems


In hues of grey or white, or blue and pink,
they copy smoke of trains or fields of snow,
then show off seas where countless flickers sink.
They hide the moon as easy as a blow.
Their bundles hold the rains and overflow.
They change from invisible clouds of sighs
to massive walls between the stars and eyes;
from beds for dreaming after romance rings
to drawing sheets where imagination lies.
From high they stir a human´s wish for wings.


Poems: A page of Rosa Clement´s site
© (1999)