The croaking of frogs,
the trees and the logs.
The birds are all chirping,
the animals are slurping;
The water from the bank of the pond.
It's feeding the trees,
is friends with the breeze.
It is as calm as a song,
playing all day long;
The water from the bank of the pond.
But good things never last,
now it is in the past.
The bank is all dry,
from the blue of the sky;
The water from the bank of the pond.
The animals are all crying,
no more birds to be flying.
The trees are all grey,
why couldn't it stay?
The water from the bank of the pond.
- Viola ( -GangsterSangster- )
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PoetryIf you're sick of depressing poems about lost love and self casualties, then step inside this wondrous collection of melodramatic poems that'll teach you it's totally normal to write intense poems about head lice. • Copyright © 2015 -GangsterSangst...
