SF (June 17 1942 / Troy New York)

My Poems Come Out Of The Soul Of What I Am

MY POEMS COME OUT OF THE SOUL OF WHAT I AM

My poems come out of the soul of what I am
They are small
And they do not remain forever
They return and repeat themselves
Before leaving me alone.

My poems come out of the soul of what I am
But they do not really know me
Somewhere in another universe
They are read and reread endlessly
As if their meaning is more real
Than I can ever know it to be.

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