Too Little for The Flame

When once I was admitted into the dry, bright, and smelly world, I cried.

During the early years I spoke softly, quietly, and mostly to my mother. Among other eyes too sharp and faces too strange, I remained largely silent.

Soon, though, my interest in the sharp and strange expanded. I feel in love with welcoming the variety existing within mankind.

Held like an armful of wrapping paper tubes, I had too little room in my hungry heart to settle on someone special, and missed the all-inciting experience of The Flame of Love.