Jane Tomic

Old Love

The old man sits with his worn out soul,
weeps in his withered hands,
“my beautiful bride.”
And here in the wake of deepest despair,
love, of all things is there.




[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2010 EDITION]


Copyright 2002-2008 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2008 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.