The funny bone

Last week I felt happy all  alone
Remembering how I wound my mother’s  wool
Doing nothing,there I felt at home

But now I’ve banged my  pointed funny bone
I sit here clutching elbow, keeping still
Last week I felt happy and alone

What is it that makes the elbow prone
To throbbing  as it hits the window sill
Doing nothing,how I felt at home

When no-one hears ,there’s no motive to groan
Though eyes can weep when pain makes us feel ill
Last week I felt happy and alone

Would we turn to statues of grey stone
If no-one ever hears our crying shrill
Doing nothing,how I felt at home

My elbow is alright but I’ve no will
I’ll have to let Len Cohen sing me well
Last week I felt happy all  alone
Doing nothing,thus I found my home

 

 

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About Katherine

I like poetry and history
This entry was posted in Thinkings and poems. Bookmark the permalink.

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