As the swagman climbs the rugged slope
Of the escarpment near the gong
The tourists find it hard to cope
But they all sing their song
As the people walk to and fro
Pass the wall of the gong
The traffic lights say to go
And they all sing their song
As you sit at home and read this
Do you wonder where you'll go
The places you'll see
Or the people you'll meet
Or what your song will be
As you wander past your window
Or listen to the door bell dong
Think about the seed you'll sow
And begin to sing your song
YOU ARE READING
Late night poetry
PoetryI want to hear feedback on the poems I write at late hours when my brain finds itself at peace. Enjoy :)
