Unlike Her, ' Your Waiting, But I Am Poem by James McLain
Unlike Her, ' Your Waiting, But I Am
Empty wombs of glass.
Sharper felt each needle,
hiding faces, smiling in the grass.
A child I am,
unlike the rest, you move the waves
and foaming up the greenst sea.
I sleep inside nieve.
But the way you died for me,
some may not see.
The end it comes around against.
Leaves falling, land to kiss.
The path is worn and plath I miss.
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5/2/2024 3:21:11 PM # 1.0.0.1119
