Poverty’s child

In corrugated, crippled world I wait,

until the dream has broken into life,

where scattered dust of hopes reveal,

that holding fast will root in deepest need.

In places, bent and wired and woven loose,

there is a call to wish upon the night,

that something more will settle on the earth;

that I may ride my way to greater birth.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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