When under the scorching sun
On a lonely noon
That I lay myself down
Just for a while
Before I set to go
The wind in a gentle pass
She doesn't pass in a hurry
Hushing the birds on a tree top
From one branch to another
Singing for me in a loudest cry
When I stop my stories in between
Perhaps to make me finish them
To close them before I go
Not to take them back home
The unending stories I tell
The loneliness it brings afterwards
Weezdam 🖊
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Editors Comment:
Satire Editor 2: This is a good poem.
The author's style is great.
El Cypher: This is a great work.
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3 Comments
Nice poem
ReplyDeleteThis poem inspires me
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