قصيدة The Broken Home
,Crossing the street I saw the parents and the child At their window, gleaming like fruit .With evening’s mild gold leaf
,Crossing the street I saw the parents and the child At their window, gleaming like fruit .With evening’s mild gold leaf
Having used every subterfuge ,To shake you, lies, fatigue, or even that of passion .Now I see no way but a clean break .I add that I am willing to bear the guilt