What if by chance,
my pencil strokes
had ears, and listened
they whispered to my
fingertips the secrets
I tell my paper
The ring finger told
the palm what pinky heard
from pencil
perhaps on a cold day
our gossipers met up at noon
as we talk, they talk,
word gets out what
index heard from palm
At night you lay
your head down
as hand creeps up to ear
you sleep but hear the rumors
ear can’t bear what’s traveled down
all the way from paper
ear waited all night for mind to awake
to pass along the news
mind won’t believe you didn’t hear it from me
that I possibly could love you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Denise...this is absolutely, an amazing write... and for your first post... I'm truly impressed. Look forward to more from you. Great Ink! ! ! ; -) -Kelly.