“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Saturday, August 5, 2017
Growing pains
Something happened
he said
but wouldn't say more,
and he changed.
Something just clicked,
she said, at that age
she guessed
but couldn't say what.
Something felt different,
like stepping into the wrong shoe
but I couldn't tell what-
It was
(left or right).
Painting by Thomas Eakins [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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