unbreak my heart rent by plunder our dying planet, the rise of tyranny again stacked on top typical travails— accidents illness, loss it’s a load unfurling fig leaves fields of sunny sorrel peeping baby birds the clean, white page solace the close-by small
Oooo... this so works! The turn with those peeping baby birds... and oh, that wondrous last line: "the close-by small"
YES!!
Thank you! I generally feel unsure about a poem's turn, never quite sure if it works.
There’s always something better to believe in