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Poem of the Week. There is no physic. For the worlds ill, nor surgery; it must. Hot smell of tar on wet salt air. Burn in fever forever, an incense pierced. With arrows, whose name is Love and another name. Federico García Lorca, Train Ride. Read the full poem here. Terrible silences speak to me,. Terribly pale silences, soft as the faces of new pigeons. Under the arch of an upturned sky. The rain collecting wet-feathered coin-glitter in endless gutters. Slow aggregate of things. Was downright astoni.CONTENT
This web page strangepearl.blogspot.com states the following, "For the worlds ill, nor surgery; it must." We saw that the webpage said " Hot smell of tar on wet salt air." It also said " Burn in fever forever, an incense pierced. With arrows, whose name is Love and another name. Federico García Lorca, Train Ride. Read the full poem here. Terrible silences speak to me,. Terribly pale silences, soft as the faces of new pigeons. Under the arch of an upturned sky. The rain collecting wet-feathered coin-glitter in endless gutters."