In your heart
There is the poetry man
It's where we all live
In the laughter of little children
Or on the morrows travels
Where wide expanse of
Strange territory can be
Lonely with death or age,
Like rural poverty in a photograph
Blown away by time, useless to anyone,
Unless they have a taste for despair,
What a wonder empathy,
You know that,
I know that,
They know that,
We all care,
About some things.