Sun on my knees
Take it to the trees
Yell to the birds
And let it be known
That they'll never own
The noise
The wind doesn't cry like it used to
Seems bluer than before
Whistling through the cracks
In my broken cellar door
Rain in my eyes
Take it to the sky
Cowering under
Tell the thunder
That it doesn't own
The noise
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I enjoyed this poem. I can imagine a scene shot in black and white... Good work