I dream in the old language
The one my father would sing in
when he didn’t want us to know
he had been crying
from a world that liked to break him like cheap porcelain
Swept up in sunshine
mended at night
only to be broken again
the next day
The one my father would sing in
when he didn’t want us to know
he had been crying
from a world that liked to break him like cheap porcelain
Swept up in sunshine
mended at night
only to be broken again
the next day
Comments