A Real Man Poem by Foster Davis
A Real Man
I sing a song late of frustration,
Pulling thorns from a thin-skinned back and breast.
While, poor me, I chide my introspection.
A real man would blow this off with a jest.
Tears would come when, late at night,
Alone, away from spouse, a cry is accepted,
A moan, alright.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
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4/25/2024 12:07:57 AM # 1.0.0.1119
