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Tenderness

All around me, the sky with its deep shade of dark.

The stars.

 

The moon with its shrunken soul.

Can I become what I want to become?

 

Neither wife or mother.

I am noone and nobody is my lover.

 

I am afraid

that when I go mad,

my father will bow his downy head

into his silver wings and weep.

 

My daughter, O my daughter.

l
Written by
Lisa Zaran
1969 / American
Lines·Words
11·65
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