Found Poetry 421

10/31/20

where shall we park our love if not in our hearts?
if a country is overgrown, will sympathy be in our hands?
will our presence be that of practical cement?
or ornamented tiles freshly set?
life is the coldest theatre of friends
everywhere starting barefooted
a family connected as trees born rooted
so when our play winds to an end
we can still spread our warmth undiluted

This poem was created from Walden by Henry Thoreau. Click here to get Walden.

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