Just words all in a line, what comfort thus,
When those that once did care no longer call?
Just empty words all falling unto dust
When those that sympathised care not at all.
What of those words which coin'd the lines of life,
And tied two minds together, though apart,
Attempting to deceive each other's strife,
By sharing thoughts 'tween beating vital hearts?
What matter now to me if my words fail?
Why should I wrestle rhyme or issue blanks,
When all my efforts come to no avail,
And all my love receives so little thanks?
And yet the words themselves do comfort still,
As they define my world through good or ill.
(CBB Sept 2011)
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