She Broke
Blessed had I held her then,
Thinking as the preacher faked
His words to her were truly spent,
‘Keep your praying, let me break.'
Among the years there dwelled a sigh,
Through faith that she would whittle,
In her mind she held so high,
For what to some had meant so little.
But I her patron swan had flown,
Leaving only what I didn't take,
Yet still her words had struck me home,
‘Do not worry, let me break.'
Never, never could I deaf the days,
Or all the promises we made,
Forgetting all our moral ways,
Slaying bonds with silent rape.
The day did pass and I left my rose,
Where the keeper had just raked,
And there in marble sang her prose,
‘I am broken, let me break.'
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