I cannot seem to say to you
How bright and pretty you are;
I feel like some old workshoe
Out of place at a festive dance.
I seem to always see myself as marred—
Some awkward, dark-stained, bended thing
Beneath a grievous cloud…
Why must this be so hard?
Were I all that men aspire to be
And something more beside,
Still I could not tell you all you are
Or make your moving spirit
Stand still upon the page.
Carol, kind heart, you are so dear,
But nothing near, nor will be;
Soon you will be gone
And this, all this will be in vain.
(Most vain in me is the notion
That you could care for me.)
rcs.
4th draft: 09/08/05
©1986 Ronald C. Southern
And a Roadrunner, too
-
Alice seemed almost as excited about our seeing new birds as we were seeing
them ourselves. On one of the first days we were there, she yelled
“Roadrunner...
20 hours ago
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Abandon hope, all ye who enter here! (At least put on your socks and pants.)