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She Will Understand

I know of a beautiful, dark-haired girl.
I have never touched her hand,
But I have swooned at the thought.
We haven’t walked the lonely autumn streets
I love the best, the streets of poor children
Who smile through the gloom
As the leaves rustle down the broken concrete.

This lovely one has not yet fallen in love with poets
And the magical vision of poetry,
But she is on the verge; sadness is in her soul,
She has known childhood heartbreak,
The fragility of the inner-child,
And she is growing everyday into her goddess.

One day, she will see the beauty of a drunken poet
Who doesn’t want to hurt anyone,
The mysticism of a passionate heart,
The conviction of human dignity,
And the voice of one crying in the wilderness,

And then she will understand the one she doubts,
The one she criticizes, she will understand the voice of truth.

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