one hundred schools
are flowering in the desert like roses
a carpet of red
fed on bread and watered with
wine and stale sweat
are covering my mouth like lilies
a living sheen of
green exhaling and breathing in
the fumes of night
are creeping through the room like strangers
a comfort of grey
they whisper the wisdom of
one hundred schools
Russell J Turner – May 2011
Relocated
9 years ago
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