It was still dark. <br />I stepped <br />around the stones <br />until the fragrance of <br />petunias called <br />and rose <br />caressing, <br />to seduce <br />the one who found <br />no peace or beauty, <br />shrugging off the sound <br />of strange, exotic birds, <br />it must be me, <br />his inner voice had said, <br />who frowns <br />and listens to the dead, <br />and not the bumblebee. <br />.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/insomnia-43/
