The Listener

She sits down on the couch to watch,
But swiftly soon she sleeps;
There’s no one knows the oracles
Or counsels that she keeps

A kind of walking bartender
Whose friends bring all their woes;
She might have troubles, too,
But if she does, it never shows —

The ache that has no anodyne,
The pain that has no cure;
She listens, but she never says –
So no one knows for sure

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

2 thoughts on “The Listener”

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