You sit and stare.
You wonder and weep.
A way to make a little sheep.
Who can hold you true.
To wealth and luxury.
Though it will make you a scullery.
You will never know peace.
And to me you speak.
Of a small peak.
Where you will work.
Till the days end.
To buy the profitable bend.
To have love.
And a life.
Just to be killed with a knife.
YOU ARE READING
A House of Turquoise and Clouds
LosowePoems, poems here and there. Short Stories everywhere. Look and look all you want. You will definitely find something you can flaunt.
