He was there
Every year
Without fail
Wouldn't let his "little ones" down
His grin the red daub of a crayon
His face the white mask of a clown
No-one questioned
When he smiled
So tenderly
Why his "little ones"
Endured years of therapy
©cih17, 23:25, 29.11.17
starcline - less a blog, more a derailed train of thought
About Me
- clinestar
- Part time poet, full time librarian, student of the delights of milk chocolate. Likes books, milk, paddling, poetry, scribbling, chocolate, notebooks, sea, piers. Not necessarily in that order. All work copyright cih.