Reading Time: < 1 minute

Poem

Not with a club, the Heart is broken,
Nor with a stone;
A whip, so small you could not see it,
I’ve known

To lash the magic creature
Till it fell,
Yet that whip’s name too noble
Then to tell.

Magnanimous of bird
By boy descried,
To sing unto the stone
Of which it died.
Next: The Only News I know

Previous Poem
Not Sickness stains the Brave,
Next Poem
Of Bronze—and Blaze