Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
Moving out the colours
Lifted high on to shoulders
For a wan child’s winter visit;
Looking through breath
To a world of pale isolation.
Here, in a muted balaclava land
I’m reaching out to glass
Full of infinite crystalline beauty.
Lights, lights, moving out;
Colours forming wet
In the shape of my mother’s
Silent waving hand.
poem
by
Phil Lowe
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black