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Stephanie finds her wreath in pain:
To her, the greatest happiness is giving.
Each moment that her love flows like a wound
Places all creation in her heart.
How can she crave the sun while in the rain
A silent, suffering soul lies barely living?
Nor can her thoughts with nature be attuned
In a world where children's brains are blown apart.
Even so, her words are sweet and sane.
All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems permission to use
provided by the author. |