Blue Box
I've written you thousands of things
That you will never see
But somehow I must express my love
To make me feel less and more empty
So all my love,
Is in a blue box beneath my bed
Where it will remain untouched
Until we are both dead.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Dangerous Waters | 1 | 04/25/2012 |
| Blue Box | 0 | 04/25/2012 |
| Love? | 0 | 04/25/2012 |
| A Song | 1 | 04/25/2012 |
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