- * INTO MY ARMS * -
Your form in tempest
Came to me.
Your pain was fresh.
Fresh as could be.
The Anger wearing
On your sleeve.
You yell at me
I turn to leave.
But all at once
The tempests calm
As anger wraps
In words of psalm.
And eyes of blue
Do look inside,
And there is no where
That I could hide.
The gentleness that
Did ensue
Into my heart
Would bring me, you.
So late she did
Throw you away
Into my arms,
You come to stay.
Author: Carolyn Ford Witt
Ms. Caroline
©2-16-06
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem