www.tredition.de
You Are Immortal
Poems
www.tredition.de
© 2018 May Woodham
Verlag und Druck: tredition GmbH, Hamburg
ISBN
Paperback: |
978-3-7469-6194-1 |
Hardcover: |
978-3-7469-6195-8 |
e-Book: |
978-3-7469-6196-5 |
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Ideal
How I wish one could amend,
T’would prove needless to repent;
All one’s deeds free from dismay,
The mind content ev’ry day.
It is not to be adored,
Only say I am unflawed;
What’s done were to bring on harm,
As well cut off mine own arm.
There, my foibles and false moves
Won’t forsake, to me they fuse;
And words, as soon as revealed
Can, not ever, be repealed.
How to make oneself at home
With oneself? It must be known!
I should duly turn recluse,
In my exile write and muse.
Not Me
He looks at her,
He speaks to her,
Goes for walks with her;
Her hand in his,
How jammy that is!
But she
Is not me.
Her sight to me is injury,
Within, indignant mutiny,
Rust I unrelentingly
Yet shut it be inside;
This plight
Is not right.
My mind entirely worn
From the smarting it has borne
And spirit unprettily stained;
In giving I strained,
All profit now be mine;
Will he, one sweet morn,
Divine
His own twine?
Only Friend
Now they’ve left you one and all
And at last you’ve reached nightfall;
If you keep me by your side,