Tuesday 24 October 2017


Pic for Representation purpose

Poesy that waned with time
Much like Latin.
The bard, a lost ball in the weeds
For people seek the merry.

Sings he, reminiscing
One gold of a time
When words stirred souls
His wit, another arrow in the quiver

Sees he, his fancy sublime
The kite fading away
Into nothingness up high.
Now all the more lifeless.
Like feet submerged in icy cold water.
His Baptism of fire.
But then, oh dear.
A flicker of hope lingers still
Much like a Norwegian night.

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