While <br />Picking up <br />Supplies for <br />A minute <br />Plumbing mend <br />A precious <br />Young girl of <br />Age <br />Eight or <br />Maybe nine <br />Quietly appeared… <br />Standing near <br />A short man <br />This guy, well… <br />Easily controls <br />Any lady’s eyes <br />And heart <br /> <br />Her mama’s <br />Eyes wore his gifts <br />Each colored a different <br />Shade of green <br />Black and blue <br /> <br />The little girl began, <br />“Mama sent me…” <br />Then, I heard him hiss <br /> <br />“I CAN’T HEAR <br />YOU, and <br />I’m not listening” <br /> <br />Softly, she once again <br />Began… <br /> <br />And he sneered, <br /> <br />“I CAN’T HEAR <br />YOU, and <br />I’m not even listening” <br /> <br />I thought <br />Sadly, why <br />He can even <br />Control the <br />Flow <br />Of love <br />In her <br />Little <br />Heart <br /> <br />(The Plumber’s Supply, Tennessee <br />~ 12 September,2006)<br /><br />Debora Short<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-damaging-drip/
