The Circle - Poem by Henrietta Pearce
My hands burn from the beating
And still they strike
This is the happiest pain I know.
I will cheer your harshest villain
And mourn each of your last breaths
And I will remember us for you.
For you are a spark of light:
You do not assume greatness
But now that it is dark,
The people are noticing.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about The Circle by Henrietta Pearce
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You