In A Hot Northerly Poem by james watkin
In A Hot Northerly
Sand-scorched, as though spat out
Of a viper's fury
Of the Sirocco clan, Wind
May you profess to be!
My new latin pleasure
I cannot miss therefore
In dervish-like twirling
No muslim climes deplore!
Nor my truer roman
Swooning exultation!
In loose tease of veiling
No eygptian frowns on.
Thursday, October 17, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: wind
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7/28/2025 6:03:02 AM # 1.0.0
