Snow blown covered thoughts,
With warm conclusion in the wind,
Today we start tommorow,
And so far we never end,
Born to rise in time,
Till death we starve for more,
Truth be told we stumble,
As we search for what were for,
Find this then you'll follow,
What you wanted in the first,
A place to call your home,
And a cup to quench your thirst,
Old, wornout, and brittle,
In this chair you'll breathe your last,
Still worn through with worry,
Their's no time to live the past.
An interesting little poem that ends with a peculiar hinge on a door sweeping open to possibilities. Well done!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good eanswer to the big question but how many would be satisfied with it? And great poetry by the way. Keep them coming. jim