by April 29, 2013 0 comments

Out of the nonsense come scribbles,
Clear as a razor,
An infant boy looking through
The glass pages
Of a children’s book

She said sing melodies
So I did
As she smiled
And walked away.

editors note:

A little melody to dull the edge, soften the sting. One could cut one’s self on those glass pages. – mh

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