At the weekend she’ll go back again to walk barefoot on ferns and then through flickering green mosaics where sunlight never burns she’ll wander wisp tossed shadowed lanes of timeless peace rimmed hours where emerald rain drops sprinkle from sky
lucky are those women, who are married to someone they love. lucky are those women, who are free to be themselves lucky are those women, who are told YOU ARE SPECIAL lucky are those women, who are told YOU ARE
Images about me- still and motion- she keeps in her mind, thoughts and feelings about me, she creates a permanent folder for. Every minute of her life she ruminates on me, near or afar, her GPS keeps navigating toward my
Respect her She is a woman , Respect her is must . She isn’t less than a man. Respect her or else your heart should rust. What would they do without her who greed only for “brothers”? Bring out that
The day I picked my black lucky pick It glided down the strings of my guitar strings Thin as a feather tough as a shell Kept it safely and it treated me well Tucked within the strings Next to the
Uploaded by Gee Cee
Give your feedback / review for the poem
Be the First to Comment & Review poem!