Poetry

Her

Easier to love another, we confess,
To make them smile, to ease distress

A shoulder strong for them, we bear,
To shield from harm, to show we care.

Yet love for self, a harder art,
To mend the pieces of our heart.

But what if, in ourselves, we find,
A child's innocent, tender mind?

For perhaps it's not just me I see,
But a younger self, yearning to be free.

To this inner child, let's kindness bestow,
For she, too, deserves love to grow.