Out Of Sorts Poem by Matt Mooney
Out Of Sorts
When you are down I look for you,
I’m talking to an empty shell;
You are trying hard to hide your hurt
As you talk to me but you do not tell
Where all your joy is hidden-
Your shop is shut to me,
You are completely out of sorts,
You have no smiles for sale.
Soon I’ll be back to see if you are in,
That all of you is yours
And you are there for all of us again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/1/2024 3:38:01 AM # 1.0.0.1119
