Classic Poem

Child of the frightened face,
Trying to understand
The little bit of love
Under your hand,

Holding the little love
Under fingers that crush
That which is soft as the
Throat of a thrush,

Holding your hand upon
The wonder of the thing,
Crushing out the song that
Wanted to sing:

Child of the frightened face,
Why do your fingers try
To kill the little love?
Soon it would die.