Pale heads
Lift in hope
Towards an elusive warmth
Just our of reach
Yet never deterred,
They bend towards the revelation
Brought by the savior
After bleak famine
The creature skitters
And the flowers follow
Diligent in their silent observance
Of warm rays
Just out of reach
Hope is never lost.
YOU ARE READING
Meandering Thoughts
PoetryMy very first book of poetry throughout which a handful of thoughts are tossed, and even crafted, onto the page. I'll update regularly. Here's hoping it's a good one.
