Little Hands
Courage cannot speak for you now
When there are ten a penny hangers on
All suckling milk from the cow
Rivers flood with the cries of veiled fear
Grab the last skiff and save yourself
They will not comprehend what they hear
Knowing not the frenzy your words bestow
Hold solace in the heart you've reclaimed
Steady your breath and start to row
Grubby little hands cling still to the oar
Scratching at your self-scrawled shame
Goading for you to ring up the score
Counter their wit now, my dear lost friend
Or plunge back into sweet silence
Until they forget what you've penned
Copyright © Kate Davies | Year Posted 2023
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