The Rind Poem by Kurt Philip Behm
The Rind
We breathe the same air
and split the same bed
We share a last name
in silent lament
The children are out
new grandchildren named
But frozen emotion
has left us both lame
The sins of the one
to the other are death
In terminal sorrow
we take our last breaths
Time has no answer
and not often kind
Our inner fruit rotten
—just leaving the rind
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February,2018)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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7/24/2025 11:06:40 AM # 1.0.0
Kurt, such a well expressed poem👍👍👍