Not a cruel song, no, no, not cruel at all. This song Is sweet. It is sweet. The heart dies of this sweetness.

I have two poems to share: the first, Brigit Pegeen Kelly's "Song," is available in its entirety on this webpage. The poem is about a small girl in a small town and her beloved pet goat which meets an unfortunate horrible, awful death at the hands of a group of cruel older boys. The poem is far too long to actually copy and paste into my blog, but it contains several of my favorite lines of all time, which I will copy and paste here:

...and each morning she woke
To give the bleating goat his pail of warm milk. She sang
Him songs about girls with ropes and cooks in boats.
She brushed him with a stiff brush. She dreamed daily
That he grew bigger, and he did. She thought her dreaming
Made it so...

...They would
Wake in the night thinking they heard the wind in the trees
Or a night bird, but their hearts beating harder. There
Would be a whistle, a hum, a high murmur, and, at last, a song,
The low song a lost boy sings remembering his mother's call.
Not a cruel song, no, no, not cruel at all. This song
Is sweet. It is sweet. The heart dies of this sweetness.

Click the link above (or here) to read the whole poem. It's wonderful.

The second poem I have to share is much shorter--and thus, quite copy-and-paste-able--but no less dripping with pathos. Robley Wilson's "I Wish In The City Of Your Heart:"

I wish in the city of your heart
you would let me be the street
where you walk when you are most
yourself. I imagine the houses:
It has been raining, but the rain
is done and the children kept home
have begun opening their doors.