Poetry. From the broken soul.

The River

The last one and this one and the next two are from English class.

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The water floating dreary,

carrying you in despair,

my sullen body sinking,

but you never seem to care.

For as my size goes scrawny

and your path becomes no more,

you only act so gaudy

for you are so galore.

Now I die from famine,

because you never fed,

I wish that all men,

be cut off by the thy head.

So now as I die,

and my lights go dim,

no more river will be to thy,

as my tomb lays beside him.