Childcraft
In the cold, cross church he lay, helpless;
Warm, waning skin against him.
Their resonant chorus of collective cheer
He could hear but not listen to.
They’ll mould his wet clay,
Begin here to fashion a vessel to fill until
It becomes full of what they are.
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Author:
GREENMAN42UK (
Offline) - Published: December 15th, 2017 18:50
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 43
- User favorite of this poem: Laedie Willacaw.
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