Though blooms my heart in the maiden cart,
My life shall not be whole,
As down I stride a street so wide,
The tapestry of my soul.
Where once was found a maiden bound,
To lectures of the morals,
My life was led to men in bed,
For need of starvations tomorrow.
They say a life, so full of strife,
Is not much worth the living,
The bad winds howl for those who bow,
And cannot do the giving.
If you would like to add a new verse to this poem, please send an email with verse submission in the subject line. Include, if you wish, a link to your site, or an email address where people may send you feedback. Bear in mind that we are rated PG -- :O)
Thank you,
Donna F. Wilson, and Mechele R. Dillard.
