Author: Charles Simic

How much death works, No one knows what a long Day he puts in. The little Wife always alone Ironing […]

Where the path to the lake twists out of sight, A puff of dust, the kind bare feet make running, […]

1 The brightly-painted horse Had a boy’s face, And four small wheels Under his feet, Plus a long string To […]

Father studied theology through the mail And this was exam time. Mother knitted. I sat quietly with a book Full […]

Not a peep out of you now After the bedlam early this morning. Are you begging pardon of me Hidden […]

A New Version: 1980 What is that little black thing I see there in the white? Walt Whitman One Out […]