Poetry Archives

My heart cried like a beaten child
 Ceaselessly all night long;
I had to take my own cries
 And thread them into a song.

One was a cry at black midnight
 And one when the first cock crew —
My heart was like a beaten child,
 But no one ever knew.

Life, you have put me in your debt
 And I must serve you long —
But oh, the debt is terrible
 That must be paid in song.