| I am the weakest of
all things.
In spite of the sunshine I sit silent and alone Rubbing my rheumatism Forgetting to watch the world Or to feel your pain with mine. These arms, like sticks, afraid to move So weak, I can't believe I live Like a broken flower in the sun Still not even humble Full and powerful Power in my heart Strength and living in my mind This great strong soul is me Lives ever, does all Masters what it sees Broken strong And bent to spring and hurl up |
|
|