We're Growing Crippled
Illustration to a poem from my book "On The Outskirts Of My Soul"
Illustration to a poem from my book "On The Outskirts Of My Soul"
You make my heart cry.
The land is dry and
My tears are not enough
To wet it all.
The trees don’t like their garden.
They’d rather have their roots dug out
And leave.
Somewhere where rain falls down on all in season.
Where they could grow
And jealous ones won’t choke them all for that.
You make my heart cry,
Oh, gardener, I am a tree.
Cut lose our chains
We’re growing crippled.
The land is dry and
My tears are not enough
To wet it all.
The trees don’t like their garden.
They’d rather have their roots dug out
And leave.
Somewhere where rain falls down on all in season.
Where they could grow
And jealous ones won’t choke them all for that.
You make my heart cry,
Oh, gardener, I am a tree.
Cut lose our chains
We’re growing crippled.
