The dainty names
in which he paints.
There they’re kept—
folded and whatnot
in his pocket they rot.
The cries never fold
To these names that he holds.
Anyplace he walks,
he’s always full of daunt.
When will he ever tackle those lost hearts,
and soothe the tortured wards.
Feb 26, 2025
Feb 26, 2025 at 12:53 PM UTC
The dainty names
in which he paints.
There they’re kept—
folded and whatnot
in his pocket they rot.
The cries never fold
To these names that he holds.
Anyplace he walks,
he’s always full of daunt.
When will he ever tackle those lost hearts,
and soothe the tortured wards.
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