I guess I was wrong, 220. I can still write poetry.
So much charge is held within a name
A syllable or two in which to tame
A life so full and wondrous seems a shame
To toast that word equating it the same
To life and love, I am electrified
For willful, woken ways I took, I sighed
Without remorse, I took the wheel and tried
To wend humanity to dignified
√
No comments:
Post a Comment