Crumbs for the Poor

My life, it crumbles;
in the rubble I bumble,
stumble, and mumble no tune.
My life, she's double,
double, toil and trouble--
all is reduced to ruin.

My life, where art thou?
I write--no sense of how,
why, or what I must do.
There is no us without you.

©2009 RA