𝐍𝗼𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝗼𝐞𝗺,
𝐍𝗼𝐭 𝐚 𝐫𝐡𝐲𝗺𝐞,
𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞,
𝐅𝗼𝐫 𝐲𝗼𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝗺𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝗺𝐢𝐧𝐝.
𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝗼𝐰 𝐡𝐮𝗺,
𝐈𝐭 𝐜𝗼𝗺𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝗼𝗺 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧,
𝐒𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐫𝗼𝐮𝐧𝐝,
𝐓𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝗼𝐮𝐫 𝗺𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝗼𝗺𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐮𝗺𝐛.
𝐅𝐫𝗼𝗺 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝗼𝐟 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐠,
𝐓𝗼 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝗼𝐟 𝐚 𝐜𝐮𝐛,
𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝗼𝗼𝐤'𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝗼𝐫𝐲,
𝐈𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐥𝗼𝐫𝐲.
YOU ARE READING
My Poem Stash
PoetryWhen Him comes home after his nightly fly I find it quite enjoyable to grab my note book that passed down from mother to father to now me, the one who has taken liberty in filling the pages with words only to share to myself and on rare occasions, o...
