Alan Bruce Thompson
I'm really quite frightened in this flabby little form.
I've tried to tell them that I don't like being alone.
If I squeak just right then she’ll think I’m hungry.
If I squeal quite wrong, then he will get angry.
It's hard for the formed soul to express through the child's mouth.
It has to wait a long time of growth to find its way out.
Months and months of milk bottles and nappy changing.
Years and years of being small, wet and cold.
Slowly from baby to boy, even slower from child to man.
Then the soul gets lost as the body starts growing old.
The growing old is just about the opposite of growing up.
Then one day the soul is free to find another flabby little body.
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Comments about this poem (Small Soul by Alan Bruce Thompson )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 April 1918 – 27 February 2002)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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