I am told of my ancestors,
They saw a curled scorpion almost frozen dead.
They took the creature out of mercy and compassion.
They left the poor thing in a warm pocket.
Happy of a good deed they went ahead.
“Ouch…” one of them cried and said.
“I am bitten and poisoned by the scorpion.”
I am a hybrid; half Aryan and half Seyed.
Lost in identity I feel John Welch.
Loney-like I may have to choose
A mythic death or a life to lose,
Losing what I never learned:
What is it?
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Scorpion by Nassy Fesharaki )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
(5 November 1850 - 30 October 1919)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(13 July 1793 – 20 May 1864)
(October 13th 1990)
(13-7-31 (see reverse))
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1320 – 1392)
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