Word Acts: The Blinding
Sorrow pure knows no regret, says poet Lawrence Willson.
'Tis seeming the way life comes
the day I bury one friend
I mourn the death another
Sorrow pure knows no regret
only profound loss of form
for awhile my sore clinging
All the while my life's blinding
‘tis true, what that poet sings,
every thing have a crack
in
it
so
light
can
get
through
it
**
This poem first appeared here:
http://www.allrivers.org/Voices_of_Diversity_Articles.html.
