No matter, my innocent friend,
My feather-tipped wings shall,
My feather-tipped wings shall,
Wrap around your diamond cold corpse.
The world was nice, seemingly free of gall,
But shining clouds are where you were meant to be.
But shining clouds are where you were meant to be.
Let the icy crown rest apon your brow,
The Blanket of snow cover you up.
"It wasn't meant to be", the angels said.
Their chorus slowed, then eventually pounded
"It wasn't meant to be", the angels said.
Their chorus slowed, then eventually pounded
in
my
head.
2 comments:
Simone, that's a lovely poem! Did you write it?
Yes (:
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