21. Dec, 2017

Exile's Child

I knew what he'd lost.
How could I not?
It was built into the narrow marrow
Bones of everything.
There were real children, once,
By a roadside,
Playing, not an imitation, taught,
But the heart songs that he sought.
'You two, you think you're so clever, 'he said of us.
We didn't think so,
And we were not. He forgot that,
But I, did not.

Ruth Enright