We in heavens gangly eyes
Hearing that you do not rise
Fault in shadows mechanic roar
Of fuzzy screens that do not soar
Oh where the heart and where the shore
On lasting images that we store
Free the darkness and so the light
Hearts do cherish for this night
We beaten rough and sore
Hold fast or hold no more
YOU ARE READING
March of the Flowers
PoetryOne by one, we march. We march. Our branches tired. Our leaves are wearied. March of the Flowers is a collection of poetry
