Who told you that?
You weren't there,
If I'm small to know,
Many tongue will err,
The listener is selling a tactful lie,
It's done with a croon,
I'm not a cruel heart to fly,
Every poison of truth settled to comply,
What else again?
I won't pick a brain,
Not about leasing you a reign,
She must be the older?
Yet still,I'm the beholder,
Where she's going I'm not caring,
Maybe when I do what she do,
Happiness will win for us two,
Mum already calls me Walkingshoes,
Thus the possession of active tools,
I'm lighted in a sun,
Come on,every work is ever done,
Since you're stiffed in my arm,
You're with the historical champ,
Secured from their wicked avenge,
Feel the trace of revenge,
Copyright © Anderson Walkingshoes | Year Posted 2018
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment