Poetry / The Croup

I pick you up,
cradle you,
sing your favorite song.
I really need to put you down.
It hurts if I hold you for too long.
Your real mother cries in the gutter
clutching her empty chest.
So you pull my apron strings,
kick me in the shins,
and tell me
you will love me
if only…

Reviews

June 25, 2006

dellessa

personal info reviewer stats

No. of Reviews	Overall Quality	Comment Followup
194	66.7% (33 votes)	29.0%

Age	Gender	Location	Last Login
28	F	United States	January 11

dellessa reviewed Version 1 - Read 100%% of the Item

Nice rythem. Good word choices. And the imagery is right on spot.  

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