Thorns tickle my throat
Come
The cranes that feed their
Children;
My son’s already inventing.
The night’s my only staple
Come
The stars that sing for
Others;
I list in endless insomnia.
Slowly glowed the river
Come
The golden sorts of
Dreams;
I leave them for my progeny
And surrender to what I’d sworn.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 12:06 AM UTC
Thorns tickle my throat
Come
The cranes that feed their
Children;
My son’s already inventing.
The night’s my only staple
Come
The stars that sing for
Others;
I list in endless insomnia.
Slowly glowed the river
Come
The golden sorts of
Dreams;
I leave them for my progeny
And surrender to what I’d sworn.
They'd become my everything, they'd 'ever be my everything.
