by Pablo Neruda
Tell me, is the rose naked
or is that her only dress?
Why do trees conceal
the splendor of their roots?
Who hears the regrets
of the thieving automobile?
Is there anything in the world sadder
than a train standing in the rain?
Posted by Rose_literature princess on April 11, 2011 in Poem, Uncertainty
Tags: poem, uncertainty
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