poems
are just words put in special order.
older
we became, but it matters too little.
leaving
leaves as wind blows them away.
waving
trees their branches looking empty and sad.
settled
we with bodies weakened by age
page
was turned and nothing is coming back
beg
we only for a mild and warm weather.
neither
you no I know when it comes.
arms
reach out and we hold hands.
ends
eventually every rain and trubble.
loving
only stronger with winter upon us.
lets dance.
poems are just words put in special order
© Copyright: Анетта Мор, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123051406640
Свидетельство о публикации №123051406640
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