There are many remarkable women br That the boundary of historical years br Has prevented me from meeting. br br I have often been near tears br Reading the fragments of Sappho, br Or merely gazing at a photograph br Of Emily Dickinson. br br When I was a young boy, br I remember reading the Bell Jar br And seeing pictures of Sylvia Plath, br br I thought she was so beautiful, br Nearly as beautiful as her amazing words br That brought both fear and sorrow br To my tiny beating teenage heart. br br She was dead in 1963, br A year before my birth, br I still hoped there was some way br To love and rescue her! br br Now, as the years unwind br Through broken relationships and dark nights, br I’ve come to realize, everyone is a hurting child br And that I’ve made more women sad than sweetly smile.