In March, In Step, All Trampled in Fury

People, they steeped, stepping,
they thought necessarily nerved,
and I, not knowing kindly why.

I could not keep my questions,
my quizzical nature of needing,
knowledge of why things were.

How they hurried here this time,
in such comical canters chosen,
they came chancing my company.

And I picking my puzzlements,
these refined emotes unencountered,
of torments you thought therapeutic.

This poem can be read on –


About jessienileacai

Irish speaker and artist. I love music, art, languages,literature, history, travel, photography, and comedy. I love Ireland, my heritage, the old ways and the beauty and people of this small island and its surrounding tiny islands
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