Eavesdropping Poem by Henry Love

I have always had a knack for eavesdropping.

Tho I am not in the least 

Fancied by the distant conversation.

The corresponding voice 

Of the majority's cry.

Place me in a situation,

Shrouding me 

Corrupting my sense. 

The constant laughter

By sounds unbearable 

The foreign words I cannot understand 

Tho do respect. 

The gentle voice enchants me so 

And am saddened by cries of woe

I look upon faces of different races

Precise to their own thoughts. 

My father told me long ago 

The curious eye does not go wanting

And the naked ear is evil. 

Such curious nature

Tho strictly forbade. 

I am bound by sand and sin 

Not to wander aimlessly into that distance. 

My thoughts indeed carry

By the countless tongue.

I hearken close to the strangers voice

To long for something to drown 

Out my own noise. 

In heed of advice only this.

For the unbirthed feeling to belong

And the fragment of admiration 

Lay gently upon my ear.