The eerie sound of buzzards cry,
I sit alone with tearful eye,
The silence it surrounds my soul,
True meaning gone,
I've lost my goal.
My spirit needs a gentle shove,
I need an angel from above,
To guide me back to where I came,
I'm trapped within this crying game.
Within the garden there I see,
A soft pink rose, so wild and free,
Sweet butterfly, flits to and fro,
A pleasant sight, my feelings grow.
These little things are there to please,
Gentle, calming, filled with ease,
Time to pull myself together,
Determined to fight this stormy weather.
Jayne Davies
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem