My Heart Cries Out

"Woman Reading By A Window" by Carl Holsoe (1863-1935) 
My heart cries out for poetry
it's all I long to read -
perhaps it's age
or wisdom
or perhaps it's more the need
to tend to what grows inside
to feed what's withered thin
and nurse it back to life
once more
before death does steal in.

19 thoughts on “My Heart Cries Out

  1. Words travel, where the verse lives. I hope your words do not steal too soon, at least not until the past finds the present, to embrace the future of the inner wilds. Love the succinct expression, beautiful.

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