Lovers
Love's a poor shelter, whatever you say,
The cover flaps in the wind,
rain gets in the ceiling,
Yet here we come to kindle
In a loving gesture or a glance
A little warmth beneath the hungry stars.
While overhead there stretches a vast sky,
stony, infinite,
And utterly indifferent to our brief ecstasy.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Added by Poetry Lover
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