His Prize (Pt.5) Poem by Rebecca Springsteen
His Prize (Pt.5)
I hear a strong language,
she looks at me then says, 'That's the sound of my grave.'
'He got rid of the other one a couple of yesterdays,
ago.' I look at what she's wears,
but I can't stop looking at her face.
She disappears behind a chair.
This large thing of a man grabs all,
of her and puts her in the coffin.
The last thing I see is her blue eyes as the coffin door closes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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7/21/2025 3:01:31 PM # 1.0.0
