Sour Sarah Poem by Michael LaBrier
Sour Sarah
Sour Sarah, guardian of right
(and natural scold) ,
prospecting for offense, she sniffs the sentence's every word,
in case a slight
might just be hidden in the folds.
And, finding always umbrage there,
(white gloves find dust)
she draws her blade and harvests guiltless head and heart.
Righteous Sarah—
with constant use, her sword can never rust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/28/2026 10:39:38 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
