I am life-tired
	And looking
	For a heart-home,
	A haven
	Filled with cookie-warm
	Smells and spring-
	Breeze freshness.
	I am alone
	Inside myself,
	Even though my
	Outside self sees
	A thousand others.
	Where is the loving,
	Mother-soft-and-sweet
	Beloved now?
	I do not know.
	I live inside my shell
	And cannot tell.
	Once, I saw
	A mean, thoughtless lad
	Dash a hapless turtle
	To the ground;
	It lay there with
	Its shell cracked
	And bleeding.
	My tears still flow
	For that turtle
	And all
	The simple creatures
	Who lie everywhere
	With cracked
	And broken shells.
	Home-empty,
	I lie inside myself,
	Wondering if anyone
	Will soothe
	My life-sundered shell.

9/17/81

© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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