A Fitting Crown

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  • Emotional

    A Fitting Crown


    What child is this that stalks me now,
    Wearing my death upon her brow?

    A fitting crown that I should wear,
    For leaving her abandoned there.

    Her heart is filled with hatred strong.
    My blood must flow to right the wrong.

    When will she find this weary soul
    Too tired to fight, and take control?

    I fight her now, but will I still
    The next time that she feels so real?


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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    cookie’s Poems (11)

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