Mama - to you.
"I'm slow of thought and slow of tongue" -
a humble ring, a solid rung.
How feebly we reach out, when young:
Oh "love-dove" songs, so oversung.
Fall shambles of the pen, trite, trite
and yet, instead of burning,
trash we write.
Maturity, please come,
Ignite - my graphite!
Truth's simple. Wisdom -- crystal sonnet.
Why I write ?
to mop up stale pearls, like vomit.
To the Divine grace I nod and say,
"A truth unspoken, if I may",
to bring a new prism, and be fit
to shine an iridescent light through it.
Why I Write?
© Copyright: Athena, 2002
Свидетельство о публикации №102022000133
Свидетельство о публикации №102022000133
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