What can you say to that?
Such cold words,
from one so young.
This poem has feelings,
too many feelings.
It feels like it just might explode.
All you can say is –
Oh, poem, wait.
Someday, you will understand.
And reach out your hand,
but this poem shrinks from your touch.
So you go out, close the door.
What good would it do
to tell this poem the truth?
To share all your disappointments?
This poem, weeping in its room,
will never know how much you envy it,
how you long, just for a moment, to be a poem again.
