Song Making (by Sara Teasdale)
My heart cried like a beaten child
Ceaselessly all night long;
I had to take my own cries
And thread them into a song.
One was a cry at black midnight
And one when the first cock crew--
My heart was like a beaten child,
But no one ever knew.
Life, you have put me in your debt
And I must serve you long--
But oh, the debt is terrible
That must be paid in song.
