Scared To death Of what is To become of him, Not knowing any future plan, He sits many days with nothing To think about except himself and life. All too simple, he throws bread to the pigeons, Watching them gobble greedily right at his feet since They have no remorse, but eat until full then fly.
Oh to be a child again, and yet to a child, the smallest things are monumental. I remember wanting to be a grownup when I was small -- grownups have all the money, they can do anything they want, stay up as late as they choose ... so little did I know. This is very good, George -- you got me to thinking -- what more could a writer hope to accomplish than to make his readers 'think'.
Love,
CJ
You create the "state of mind" of your character very effectively in your verses, George. One can feel the anguish and uncertainty. Thank you. Love and peace,
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I am enjoying your poetry
Peace
William
enjoyed thid much....
Love,
CJ
Regis