Like the title says, for the love of poetry.
For The Love Of Poetry.
To you who love poetry,
whose eyes I try to see,
whose mind I try to reach,
whose heart in tune with mine,
see the weeping, the wounded,
I don't offer the grand plan, the blueprint,
only a heart, a hand.
Like you, I know our world as a beautiful garden,
a bounteous Olypus,
exploited, abused.
Like you, I see vicious claws of poverty
tear the dreams of youth,
pillage the pride of age.
Like you, I hear the heavy tread of tyranny,
shake the humble heart,
crush the human spirit.
I don't offer the grand plan, the blueprint,
only a heart, a hand.
Perhaps, with enough hands, enough hearts
we can at last
stop the weeping, heal the wounded.
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