One writes poems because of bruises in the heart
Though its a bird makes us see–sorry
To watch it go, we are sorry–
a child’s lament, for children are poets.
Who welcomes old, bruised hearts?
The Question
One writes poems because of bruises in the heart
Though its a bird makes us see–sorry
To watch it go, we are sorry–
a child’s lament, for children are poets.
Who welcomes old, bruised hearts?
Planet of the Blind 