When alabaster kisses nightly tales across the sky
Well acknowledged body now for the mind
How do I bind my tale to song when I have not a note to sing.
Night draws near I dare croon too for morrows spring.
Coolness in the air I let memory spin.
The need to cry I needn't understand why
I miss many things and crave comforts.
I lie awhile, nothing comes to me,
Not a thought, a craving for something is also amiss
I crave for movies and shows.
Nothing more.
YOU ARE READING
The Meadow Rose
PoetryGardens of Plenty, stories unfold, It's a telling for many, from centuries ago... I've gathered some work from moments I've been emboldened to clarity... befuddlement, in many ways, it paints my prose. It continues to keep me on my toes. When...
