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george bailey
December 27, 2011
Mary, married,
sold the moon for a home,
the banker needs the money, his home, is cold
a new car, to some drafty house,
the furnace burns inside the wife's blouse,
my beautiful wife,
my tears for your dreams,
my dreams for your children,
a couple glasses, for what we have
a garden,
and our souls,
you're beautiful, the way you hold yourself so modest,
you burn the snow,
my education for our furnace,
it's not called compromise.
It's called sacrifice.
© Paulina A., Marblehead, MA
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