My Heart Does Not Leap My heart does not leap when the flower is in bloom, when the brook is all abubble, or when a child is in the room. My heart is not moved by a bucket, or a bugle blast, by the sound of cattle lowing, or by times already past. My heart does not buy into this dim and dull dustheap; my heart has other fish to fry, and fish, you know, don't keep. J.D.Heskin |
If you have opinions about this poem, J.D.Heskin would be
pleased to hear them.
