Sunday Poem: Spinning Still

In the amber of a late October,creative intelligence leaf
altered by illness
and a mauling from friends, we have
come again to London, and come
one to the other,
in truth,
it seems, for the first time
in twenty-something years.

These are our days.

Above, white lines from Heathrow
streak the sky, an airplane flashing

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A Crowd of Stars

Read WB Yeats' poetry with commentary by the muse

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Read Maud Gonne's words about the poetry she influenced