Poem For My Wife – Like A Cobbler’s Child - Poem by Bill Grace
You said to me: You write about everything
But you have never written a poem for me.
If I am defensive it will not help us
There is no joy in wounding the woman with whom you sleep
Poetry does not produce money
Like the cobbler’s children you are the last to have shoes
But unlike the cobbler’s kid
These words can’t protect you
From even a little snow.
Comments about Poem For My Wife – Like A Cobbler’s Child by Bill Grace
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