Ideas are raised, grow up in our minds.
Perhaps they have depressing home
lives.
We mistreat or overburden them.
Most of them sink, unremembered, in
problems,
But there's a moment when a newborn
idea
Is all its mother-mind can see,
Is pure and strong as it can be,
Makes its very home's heart beat,
So awfully young to live life's peak.
No comments:
Post a Comment