Cure-Alls Poem by Frederick Kesner
Cure-Alls
naught save the peddlers of art
where entertainment's a la carte
and the menu card's kind a faulty
yet here we're reasonably comfy
so show us the justice of poetry
lost in the valley of minutes and years
it's audience so glad to have been found
consumers shall ever-consume and
restlessness gaze at sighs of those at ease
the hand that wipes away all fears
never to reveal their private peace
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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7/23/2025 9:15:35 AM # 1.0.0
