by Brenda Louise Lewis

    Our lovemaking was good, moving, and masterful.

              Then I was late.

         He railed at me and scolded me.

            I winced and moaned.

       I went to bed and when I awakened,

             the child was born.

                He - gone.

           He'd left me wounded.

           My heart ached and sank..

          The child was small and frail.

      He needs me to come again to my senses.

Now my heart must move with mastery to care for another.

           But, who will care for me.

             The broken hearted.

     I rise from my bed now to care for another,

    but wounded I stand for a while a little less tall.

  The child small and frail waits for me to find strength.

           Waits for my heart to heal.

Wounded by Brenda Louise Lewis

© Copyright 2002. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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