Twas an 'ard t'ing to picture
I can scarcely imagin' a perfect frith
A spotless blouse itself is a rare sight
But t' pain of liv'in and the ache of t' eart' is plain t' every eye
Be it easy for t' eye to look upon it's own tears
And t' scars 'ard work left behind
Still t'ough we know that t' eart' 'ad t' Lord in every acre
T' seeds would sing 'is praise
Yet none of it did man make
And in the end we sinned and we still curse God of late
He be our Creator all t' same
Even sent 'is son so we would 'ave a place after our graves
+Frith means peace
+T' is the or the absence of an *h* as many people couldn't pronounce that letter
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Invisible Ink
ŞiirMy random poetry that expresses my thoughts feelings and experiences. Many of these poems reflect some of the darker times in my life while others celebrate how blessed I have found myself to be. However quite a few of these are not about me. I have...
