Portrait of the Artist as a Lone Tree
When others shout their scorn, I come to love you;
but then the thought of love becomes a strain -
turn me away, turn me away,
you turn me away,
desiring not to have to face the love,
and so escape the cold and ancient pain.
Site, poetry, prose, images and audio © 2003-2019 Dave Knight except where otherwise attributed. All rights reserved. The right of Dave Knight to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988