Mother may I?
Mother, may I shoot myself-
The sky with smoke is laden;
May I Mother, may I please-
Oh, but the dirt's so heavy!
Mother, may I turn to bone-
While universes jostle;
May I Mother, make some loam-
Where freedom's tread is broken?
Mother, may we journey far
To where a mind has value;
Where shallow things have followers few,
Not many men will travel.
poem by Patti Masterman
Added by Poetry Lover
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