Guileless Child We Think
J
James McLain
0
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Playing down a furrowed lined incased in head
is unmade bed all windows
to a soul.
Lifting shoulders burdens would not dare to try
and carry on this path of thorns whom
say they care.
Anology compares your mind to theirs grace
fares a better plate to rest my slice
of bread your host.
Yellow morning sun a cloud to bank the wisom
of some ink the pages would all
play a part this day.
Solitude of moonless shine thine sureal would
you find a clearing seamless
mist now dine.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş