Read it slowww-lyy, Here I am loneee-lyy, Writing a song for my mother Mom. Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! Beautiful days, dull sunrays, The time is fleeting like tides and waves. Far from home, living alone, Writing a song for my mother mom! Read it slow-ley, Here I am lon-ley, Sitting in a park, writing in the dark, Pouring my pain, in search to become happy again She likes to cook, I love to write book She does it for me, I do it for her. Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Over the land, near the bank, She thinks of me and I think of her, We are together bound, But time turned our lives all around with a lamenting sound. Read it slowly; my mother mom is lovely. She sleeps there in the wintry nights And I in the summer cries, Waiting for the day we meet again And I will be happy again.
Unthinkable. Lithograph of a malaise. I cannot talk. Will you abandon the thought and care about the drowning dawn? The bandaged ego of the book threatens the reader. Come and solve the puzzle of poetry. Everything was quiet except the
Walking in mental fog, you become a swaying tree. In mistiness one becomes lonely like a blackbird. Hollyhocks would wait, till the sun comes out. December rain brings the gift― of sleet on lips. ————————————– Walking in mental fog, you
Within the imagination I am content to live This is my stay I see how plenty, how ever-expanding it is The ‘All’ a rich array Of ever-rotating colors with which to paint And never fade away This is my stay