by E.P.Robles14 Jul 2019
and when honey dew simply drips away
t h a t crack from FEAR
t o o small t o see
but hate and anger fought the stage —
I am left with sad
speckled nest-less
eggs in tender hands
If a plant, from tears
they would grow
but now, wingless
lovely eggs to bed
I bury you in dreams
EPROBLES (C) 2019