1 min read
Слушать(AI)When You Come
When you come to me, unbidden,
Beckoning
To long-ago rooms,
Where memories lie.
Offering me, as to a child, an attic,
Gatherings of days too few.
Baubles of stolen kisses.
Trinkets of borrowed loves.
Trunks of secret words,
I
RY.
Maya Angelou
Maya Angelou (April 4, 1928 – May 28, 2014) was an American poet, memoirist, and civil rights activist. She published seven autobiographies, thr
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Caged Bird
A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends
Still I Rise
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Weekend Glory
Some clichty folksdon't know the facts,posin' and preenin'and puttin' on acts,stretchin' their backs They move into condosup over the ranks,pawn their soulsto the local banks Buying big carsthey can't afford,ridin' around townactin' bore...
Remembrance
Your hands easyweight, teasing the beeshived in my hair, your smile at theslope of my cheek On theoccasion, you pressabove me, glowing, spoutingreadiness, mystery rapesmy When you have withdrawnyour self and the magic, whenonly the smell...