Broken Wings
My precious, little dove
The one I do so much, love;
Not able to take flight
Nor prime for the fight!
Why hath thou forsaken thyself-
You, with broken wings, upon a shelf;
Why for art thou, would you?
Just how, my dear, could you?
Fly now, fast; fly now, far-away from fear,
Leave ghosts-that they be nowhere near!
Protect e'er, our issue, from danger-
So too, from my love, now a stranger!
Recover now drothers, serve now penance-
From this wreckage, may we gain substance!
Maurice Harris,13 May 2008
poem by Maurice Harris
Added by Poetry Lover
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