When the Boy Made Me
by: M. MacMinn
We grew empty with careless concern
a buzz at night and searching
We walked to far, to far to return
tired and lost, tired and wandering
With a wayward stretch, singing dust in the wind
Learning the present, passing through days
Only to be
the man that I am, when the boy made me
www.markmacminn.com
No comments:
Post a Comment