Maybe there's a fountain somewhere
That can heal the scars of time
And transform those who are old and frail
Back to their joyful prime
But if this miracle should exist
What would we become?
Those who rule with power and greed
Would have years before they were gone
The glistening waters would be dried like clay
Before anyone could make it right
And those whose lives were always day
Would be forced to face the night
Miracles should not be bought and sold
By those who cause other's strife
They should be shared with young and old
Who value them with their life
YOU ARE READING
A book of small poetry
PoetryThis is going to be a book of some poems I've written because I'm new and original. Some will be me ranting about humanity so, I suppose, I apologise if that annoys you.
