Heart of Clay
She always struck me as the sadder man
who smiled against the sudder
When all along her spirits moil
were not enough to to udder
That all she seemed to tell herself
was ball along half manned
When all she seemed to love herself
was from an inside stand
That only she could think that way
for work to claim her hand
When only she could be dismayed
for us to understand
That only cure for love's disease
would make a young heart play
When all along her love for man
was from a heart of clay
Copyright © Trevor Mcleod | Year Posted 2020
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