Weather's Fine Poem by King Happy
Weather's Fine
A storm above my head.
Tremors below my feet.
Avalanche Tsunami,
This disasters right on beat.
Wash it all away, and
Send it crashing down.
I beg of you my 'master'
To show where life is found.
Did I have it clean and dry?
Perhaps when on the ground?
Is it when you're swept away?
Or maybe when you drown?
Taken for granted, and
Wasting to a rot.
This life is not my own,
Life it's surely not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/16/2024 12:48:28 PM # 1.0.0.1119
