Little Hands

Courage cannot speak for you now When there are ten a penny hangers on All suckling milk from the cow Rivers flood with the cries of veiled fear Grab the last skiff and save yourself They will not comprehend what they hear Knowing not the frenzy your words bestow Hold solace in the heart you've reclaimed Steady your breath and start to row Grubby little hands cling still to the oar Scratching at your self-scrawled shame Goading for you to ring up the score Counter their wit now, my dear lost friend Or plunge back into sweet silence Until they forget what you've penned