Me sitting, my books beside
In contemplation, I ramble to hide
There is shouting out They tell me, I know nothing about
There is life to be had There is nothing I find to be ugly or sad
Odyssey pages, I might ingest Dreams like chiming bells of my chest
There are scrambles outside my door I keep the door shut to avoid those wars
Their wars of fright are not mine I will fight mine another time
My library, art of kings and joys and lords
I filled with crackled glass scribe and harps with chords I read to keep poets joys
Cherub words to be employed
Let those ruthless roosters of unfortunate wars Remain on the other side of my concrete door
I shall hide and bide myself away
From that insidious door
I will refuse to stay
Sherry Healy©️
2023
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