Weasel Poem by Colby Butcher
Weasel
In the end, the sky will be mellow
His eyes will dull, the spark fading.
His once burning will sizzles out,
In the end, the sun will be yellow
Like a flame of a candle.
His shiny black hair spread out,
Covering his bloody face in a black veil.
In the end, His blood will mix with that his Fellows.
His brother screams his name,
Nevertheless, he will not hear.
In the end, the sky will be mellow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/17/2024 9:10:51 PM # 1.0.0.1119
