Leaves and dead grass crunch
As my yellow converse tromp on through
Passing through the greenery with a stick in hand
I shove branches out of the way
The sun glistens on down below the small ravine
Sparkling rocks wet from the shallow stream
Water bubbles under fallen rotting trees
And the only thing I can think of is disappointing you
So I continue on until I reach the tunnel
And then I'm afraid to go further alone
And I wish you were here to take my hand and whisper in my ear
"Dont be a baby"
YOU ARE READING
Poems From The Rooftop
PoetryAnother collection of poems is in order bc I'm in a creative writing class now. I'll share meh good ones here.
