DEEP HURT

Frogs and crickets to the night sky raise their tired voices

Deep in the bush a familiar disturbance

The moon is already out of sight; and now I start to stress

But who’d understand our private grievance

Lack of money has turned our young lives to a pile of mess

Struggling without success, so long have weary grown our hearts

And now the old cricket intensify its plaintive song

The feeling of helplessness now, doubly, to my heart start to cling

We often plan to meet but, always, lack of means keeps us apart

A thousand poems cannot our deep, deep frustration to tell start

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