Oh, how my grandfather's hands could write pages
It would take ages
His book could start with his endless addiction
Then, it ends with his rise to glory
But that would be what he shows the public eye
No life story is like a lullaby
For life to be a piece of cake
You'd need to have the means to bake
Through ink-stained fingers, tales unfold
In secrets kept, and dreams untold
With every stroke, his past unfurls
A tapestry woven of pearls
But behind each word, a silent ache
For burdens carried, hearts that break
Yet still, his hands moved with grace
Capturing moments, time, and space
In the rhythm of his pen's embrace
His legacy found its place
YOU ARE READING
Whispers in the Water: A collection of short stories and poetry
Poetry"Whispers in the Water: A Collection of Short Stories and Poetry" is a mesmerizing tapestry of emotions and experiences woven into words. This collection offers a diverse range of short stories and poems that delve into the complexities of human exi...
