All the Children

ALL THE CHILDREN

some of them break my heart

and i don’t care

if it sounds

hackneyed or trite,

some of them break my heart.

the doe sleepless eyes

from the fortyyearold twelve year olds,

the porous cries of the noisiest silent ones,

the bruise in the apple that softens the crate of them,

                                                            some of them,

all of them,

break my heart.