Flows, To Become A Wave Poem by jose sarang

My hands are cold
And wings are muddy
The rain made the ferns down
The trees are wet
The angels are in the nest,
And the pebbles rolls in the flow.
My hands are cold,
And wings are wet.
Tree showers the violet in my eyes,
The boatman comes,
Like a weathered song
And faded in the morning light
I ran through the smiling ferns
I flow through the dappled cries
Flows through the sacred shades.
I keep the silver moon in my soul
The tree showers hails and berries
I flow with a song in hurry
The ocean will hug me with the waves
The boat man sings from far
I flow with the tears of hills
Flow with the songs of flowering fields
My hands are cold
Wings are muddy
The silver moon becomes
A faded smile
In my soul