When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me
To long-ago rooms,
Where memories lie.
Offering me, as to a child, an attic,
Gatherings of days too few.
Baubles of stolen kisses.
Trinkets of borrowed loves.
Trunks of secret words,
I CRY.
Maya Angelou
Art: "Tears" by deyn
2 comments:
No I am not in a crying mood, I just love the poem. Actually I love a lot of her poems, I should share them more often.
I love Maya Angelou, both her writing and her presence. Its her depth that makes her so special. She writes about what matters and what matters touches us all.
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