Mad Was 'I', But 'You' - Poem by James McLain
Mad Was I, But You
and balmy salve on that cut.
Rolls and rolls of gauze, I replace
Sunday morning when it opens, I look.
Letting you squeeze it out of the tube,
I must rub the wound, day in and day out.
Deep is the cut, close your eyes and lie still.
It is only in your mind, I try to explain
as your thoughts I carried out
of your mind.
Was it I,
Was I the cause, of your decline.
I can help, let me help you up and please be nice.
here comes the doctor.
Here she comes.
She is here.
I was 'mad', but you.
All about you, inside and out.
I brush your soft hair,
I kiss you there.
When I lay awake daring the day.
You will like the new psychiatrist.
She smells of,
oranges and apples.
She orders the liniment,
I spread on you.
Some what chilly, the linoleum floor.
The distance is short to the gurney.
Comments about Mad Was 'I', But 'You' by James McLain
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You