Blazing at the gazing sky,
Deep into the heart as the beach comber rise,
Sitting and counting the glazing of the pebbles,
When near the seashore heart heaviness arise...
In the coil letter of her voice roll,
Up to the sky spreading with wind rode,
Like a funnel her soul cries,
Taking her cries to a heaven with a code...
In myth she's hackney,
Or a haddock of Atlantic,
Perfect a awesome belgard,
Hitherto lack of Avid...
Social evils efface sophrosyne,
Burning soul sentiment lunatic,
To bear harry, it's hard,
Yet, deep inside she's trid...
Why these beast gets parry,
It's more torment than the tic,
Why! She has to dree?
O'thee listen every sis bid...
Thou it's a gramercy,
For a present so fantastic,
Whose heart never gets hard,
Hitherto lack of avid...
She is a "WOMAN" mother, wife or sis,
Gives you helping hand when you are sick,
She's a perfect awesome belgard,
Hitherto lack of Avid
Topic(s) of this poem: cry, education, forgiveness, womanhood, women empowerment
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.