The Heavens At The Summit…
M
Mark Heathcote
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Rest your weary wings upon the air
let the wind of love carry you here
carry you there - as long as it,
submits to roost with me my, tit.
Let god's love give all else wings
Egrets on the peak of a mountain:
they'll not be seen in their couplings,
by those, he calls his brethren.
'Let the wind gather the last prophet.'
We'll-make-our nests our pallet
amongst; the heavens at the summit
in this love, we'll simply plummet.
Bu şiiri puanla
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