The Joyless Mother
J
James McLain
0
Altın Yaprak
The joyless mother, is cold
Every kind act motivated,
by youthful guilt, made old.
Her birth now weighs, upon
my brow, she was not in, joy
freely given, those fires unlit.
The joyless mother, grown old.
Her heart of coal, man no joy.
Never passed on to the other.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş