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Minnemingo Review


A Poet’s Note to Self                                                               Amanda Struble


Do not walk lonely through this weary wild--
Your lungs throb with the longing to belong.
Be held, be holding love like morning’s child.
Loose laughers skim the surface, milky-mild,
and still make friends who, as they splash along,
do not walk lonely through the weary wild.
Glad lovers do not blush to be beguiled
by fleeting vow; their trust is tempered strong,
beheld, beholding love like morning’s child.
Too often are deep thinkers self-exiled,
and no one calls them back from tragic wrong:
“Do not walk lonely through this weary wild.”
Wake up and leave the room where griefs are piled--
Don’t weep for wounds unhealed in years run long.
Be held, beholding love like morning’s child.
Yet mocking me, my easy words have smiled
as I stand solo singing this old song:
Do not walk lonely through the weary wild.
Be held, be holding love like morning’s child.