A Poem, A Thankyou, A Surrender, A Gathering Tear

You know how it is, too?
you write a poem, it means
more than anything to you
while you’re writing it, and when you’ve
just finished it; then
you tremble for it, for yourself;
and it’s a bit like – I imagine –
the shadow of having to give up your child
for adoption… you look away,
close your eyes, walk fast out of the door,
looking back without your eyes…

then just one person, that’s
all it needs, says they like it…
and you read your poem with
a new warmth, as if
someone adopted it,
had it christened;
and it smiled.

by Michael Shepherd

Comments (3)

Not the best one of his I have read so far.
......was nice to read again, this poem was part of the collection - words for music perhaps ★
Abashed by that report, For the heart cannot lie, I knelt in the dirt. And all shall bend the knee To my offended heart Until it pardon me. - Italian: Confuso da tale resoconto, Poiché il cuore non può mentire, Mi inginocchiai al suolo. E tutti devono piegare il ginocchio Al mio cuore offeso Fino a quando non mi perdoni.