ONCE when I saw a cripple
Gasping slowly his last days with the white plague,
Looking from hollow eyes, calling for air,
Desperately gesturing with wasted hands
In the dark and dust of a house down in a slum,
I said to myself
I would rather have been a tall sunflower
Living in a country garden
Lifting a golden-brown face to the summer,
Rain-washed and dew-misted,
Mixed with the poppies and ranking hollyhocks,
And wonderingly watching night after night
The clear silent processionals of stars.

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2 Comments

  1. touretts guy says:

    lolz. he is ignoring the cripple.

  2. Anh says:

    I think this poem reflects the image of our society. We’re disgusted by the ugly while always dreaming of the beauty.

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