Impotent

Unable to fertilize

Like flocks of Doves, on the wing,

words of love, you want me to sing.

To your heart, love you want me to bring,

instead, all you receive – arrows that sting,

for truth is my thing, that bell I must ring.

There seems nothing more, not another thing

I can do for me, or am able to do for you

that can make our dreams come true.

 

B. J. “A ” 2

March 4^th 2003