FEEBLE lights,
circling past,
seeing eye dogs,
that map out your
fight.
STRIPPED paint,
scarecrow smile,
and a limping pony
with to many miles.
AND the poet sings,
and the poet sings,
and the poet learns
to dance, in his dream.
poetry is poetry even if it is short it still has power david and it is poetry Rodney
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The poet has danced upon this stage, whilst singing'MY WAY'. Thankyou for sharing your art.Love Duncan