My leg was never in a cast,
Nor has my arm been in a sling.
I think my hide is pretty tough –
I’ve never broken anything!
Oh – but when bottles once were glass,
I held a cola by the neck
And felt it slide like pucks on ice,
And promptly stepped upon its wreck.
Too – once there was a broken heart.
How many pieces? – I don’t know.
The shattered glass one cannot count,
Nor shards of hope that do not glow.
Lest I forget – a promise made
That was not kept – a carelessness?
Or was I rash with tongue and lip? –
I broke the words I meant to bless.
Stored in my painful memories,
Some broken bits of glass still sting.
My bones are whole, but I can’t say
I’ve never broken anything!
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.
The Bard on the Hill 