This poem is about my Aunt Virginia who suffered from untreated polio.
You beg of me
To peek at you
So I stare
And say I do
You beg of me
To speak to you
So my words
Began to spew.
Only through your disabilities
revealing purities
May I be allowed
to say that I am proud.
With your little
Clay doll face
I am lifted
With your grace
With your poor
Mental mind
I share my love
To your kind.
You were not
and never are alone
For my heart is with you
tied inside this stone.
( This poem is about my Aunt Virginia — suffering form
untreated polio which resulted in a mental handicap
as a child and throughout her adult life. She is now
deceased.)
Copywrite © Tom Woodside
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