Comments Inbox
| |
THE TEACHER AND THE FOUNDLING
THE TEACHER AND THE FOUNDLING
Dirty raw face
Lost in a vicious
Dog-eat-dog world ,
His tears washed rivulets
Into my chalky hand .
Dissolving into
My soft inner soul ,
He sensed mother
And clung to the skirts
Of my conscience.
My home’s warm respite ,
Another world of gentle feeling ;
Before the return to darkness
And bruised cold fingers
In beer bottle bedrooms .
|
|
|