Poor thing. Poor crippled measure of
punctuation. Who would know,
who could imagine you used to be
an exclamation point?
What force bent you over?
Age, time and the vices
of this century?
Did you not once evoke,
call out and stress?
But you got weary of it all,
got wise and turned like this.
by Gevorg Emin, Armenia
The Poetry Corner 