Seventh Poem by Wolfgang Schumacher Thompson
Seventh
She came wounded and sore; a healing commenced that day.
Few years later, she enter with broken limbs and swollen lips. We started a new birth of healing.
Few months, she came with torn wings, feathers plucked—out of her mind.
The healing never existed, never commenced; from
this day forth she never sealed a wound.
She loved me, nothing abundant, nothing scarce.
(2014)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/28/2026 5:07:51 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
