The birds were chirping in the birchwood trees
A breeze like a whisper, caressed the leaves.
The stream babbled, going lazily by
While clouds rolled by against the bright blue sky.
Open fields- whose wildflowers grew untamed
The picture of what was before the flames.
***Does this need a title? I'm open to suggestions.***
YOU ARE READING
Twisted Like a Storm
PoetryHere's a collection of poetry written on the darker side. Enjoy!
