The only quietude he’d ever known
Was throwing papers in the morning dark;
As there, in dawning silence he, alone,
Would pedal past the edges of the park.
Each paper that he’d throw would, in an arc,
Land gracefully upon a greening lawn.
The contrast to his home life was so stark,
Where all was chaos: angry, woebegone –
A home that hatred set its face upon;
But which he could escape when came the dawn
The picture and the poem combined reminded me of Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner. I don’t know if you’re familiar with it, but this reminded me of that: poignant, with a touch of anger and sadness.
Thank you, that is a wonderful book. I really appreciate it.