Tramped Poem by RIC BASTASA
Tramped
Rating: ★5.0
we all hear the
sounds of the stamps
of your children
traveling on foot
from the wombs
of their mothers
they are all gone now.
we shall kiss the lips
of the flowers
of the umbilical cords
that set them free
Monday, December 22, 2008
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4/26/2024 2:59:01 PM # 1.0.0.1119
we grow old...as well as our children.... then we'll be alone..... longing for them because: they are all gone now