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Bird Child Poems | Bird Poems About Child

These Bird Child poems are examples of Bird poems about Child. These are the best examples of Bird Child poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Quatrain |

Cry For Wind

Fly so fast, cry for wind
Carry me between your wings
Me, me, tiny, olive skinned
Blood of beggars, blood of kings

Lost forever, never found
Roar your cry across the land
Where the road once walked and wound
Stranded in mountains of sand

Clamp your claws around my waist
‘till my harness groans and falls
You will hold my torso raised
You, impenetrable wall

No giant strong enough to win
Or to grab us from the sky
No demon vile, no sinner's skin
No Cyclops to burn us with his eye

Fly my Harpy, take our dreams 
Kill the bad, the hurt, the sad
Cherish fragile shining beams 
Screech seductively and glad

Fly so fast, cry for wind
Carry me, my love, your wings
Me, me, tiny, olive skinned
You and me are blood of kings


March 23, 2017 
Copyright © Darren White

Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |

Black Bird On a Wire

Black Bird
Sitting on a wire
Why is your back turned towards me?
Do you wish to hide the intelligence of your eyes,
or do you wish to create some mystery?
I have seen you
Here at this old dump
Picking through the unwanted wanted things
I wish I could search along with you
Check out what the Jones's have no more use for
The bits of unfixed
The not new enough
Their "I think we deserve the very best"
"This ain't good enough, let's buy more and more stuff!"
At one time
I wore their discarded clothes
Wore them without pride
I should have been proud
For I dug for them with wanting hands
Hands that waded through decadence
Black Bird
I watched you and your brothers
As you feasted on our last suppers
Ripping open black bags
Fighting for morsels 
Unconcerned with the rotting
Intoxicated by fermenting fruit
Pungent aromas
Bones that needed to be picked clean

Me noticing but not recalling until now
Back then
I was hoping 
Praying for a bicycle
Desperately wanting to ride far away from here
Escape  my then
My embarrassment
My, I hope no one sees me!
"Garbage picker!"
"Where did you get that coat?"
"We threw that in the dump!"
Boy oh boy do I like clothes now.
No one makes fun of what I wear!

Part of me wishes to return with you Black Bird
To see what I left behind
Recycle that little boy
But I can't
The dumps aren't open anymore
It is like those old bones
Picked clean
Items placed in appropriate piles
All the while
You sit on your wire
Back turned to me
Intelligent eyes hidden
Knowing I can't disturb you
In a while you will feed on yesterday
For this place 
Is not closed to you!

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |

A Child's Peace

Tell me of your peace. 
Let it tell your story now
Of trials and tribulations, a tale not of dreams
Weary from a journey of self-discovery
My child, know the comfort in your peace
You feel hope in this familiar place 
As it gently sloughs the pain away 
Tell me of your peace 
In which we all are blessed and free
Search throughout your soul sweet child
Peer not within your cluttered mind 
Look out to rest your tired eyes but do not let them see
Solace found strewn upon daily thoughts is fleeting at it's best
Lasting merely moments, in untouched souls a true peace 
Oh yes! You'll know when you arrive but only you will know 
The world will melt away as a candle left under the blazing sun
Away away, until you feel home again, an unguided familiar scene
An innocence once lost is restored, all sins suddenly forgiven
Soaking this in with relucant ease, 
Breathe it deep with a slow release
Take it in, delight in details you discover
Be calm here child, please have no fear, I am here 
You are safe in this place of yours, no hurt no tears
We share not the same peace, no no
Unique to each of us, yet stranger to none
Trust in more than what you see, know beauty is within reach
We share this unspoken bond of freedom from ourselves
Please young one, listen closer now 
I say, leave it all behind you love, it will only weigh you down
Cleanse yourself of careless words and careful lies 
I know you're weary, let go of all you carry
Don't be afraid, here you are burden free 
Trust in you, blessed one, it's easier than you believe
Sweet child, tell me now if you see
Peace resting deep within 
Waiting for you
For you to let it be

Copyright © Gabrielle Charisse | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet |

Eyes of a Child

Looking all around me and becoming more aware,
Of the people and surroundings at which many children stare.

I come to terms and realize the acts of hate I see,
And now I fear that this same scene will soon envelope me.

Walking on a lonesome road, though crowded it may seem,
I pass through silent hordes of people hushing silent screams.

Beside me standing hand-in-hand, an older man and wife,
I wonder if they thought like me, what happened to their life.

I reminisce now further back before these broken days,
A time of wasting food and drink and dressing different ways.

But now we all look just alike in tattered grays and browns,
Drifting through these damaged streets and sporting matching frowns.

I thought we'd left the two world wars and poverty behind,
To linger in our broken books and fill an older time.

A time where death would cloud the world with sorrow and disease,
And fear would plant itself within the innocent with ease.

This made me think and look around for Noah and his arc,
And for the first time since the night I heard a flustered lark.

I quickly turned around to spot within a child's hands,
An injured bird whose time had brought it here from other lands.

The child stole a piece of thread from a redbreast robin's nest,
And wrapped around the ailing bird a splint so it could rest.

An hour past the lark took flight and answered to the wild;
The only resting place of hope is in the bright eyes of a child.

Copyright © Elaine Ho | Year Posted 2007

Details | Tail-rhyme |

Fibrolicious - Fib Contest Entry

It was birds Yes Ducks !, Mallards no less
Flown down from Alberta that made this great mess !
I tried to stop them though I shivered in fear
They flew right on past me and landed right here.

They surrounded your cupcakes like an army brigade
and attacked them they did not a one could be saved !
Frosting was flying from the mauls of their beaks
cupcake crumbs scattered all around their webbed feet !

And when they were done and finally flew out
the leader duck threw the last cupcake in my mouth !
I tried not to eat it but it was stuck to my lips
I guess they were just hungry after their long trip ?

Copyright © Randall Conklin | Year Posted 2016

Details | Personification |

'Little Sparrow'

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”—Psalm 34:18 New International Version (NIV)

Little sparrow, what troubles thee;
      is it the stigma you face?
Little sparrow, what pierces thee;
      is it the shame of disgrace?

Is it the brokenness in your heart, 
     or the sorrows you can't outlive?
Is it the anguish that sets you apart, 
     or the hurt that holds you captive? 

What befalls you 
      is neither unfelt nor unknown;
God cares and calls you
      when you're cast out and all alone. 

God will never forsake you
     in your time of need;
God will never permit you
     to suffer or bleed.

02/19/2014; for "TO HEAL A HEART" Contest


Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

The Child Inside

They say a picture is worth a thousand words.
Some take a child for angels, some for birds.
How much is it worth with the child’s face?
I’ll tell you now and rest my  case!
Who can resist the charm she casts?
Who can foretell how long it lasts?
Who can reject the smile she gives?
Who doesn't like the life she lives?
Who can refuse to play with her?
Who can’t be kind? Who can’t be fair?
Who doesn't feel the words she says?
Who can translate or paraphrase?!
It takes a child to learn these facts!
It takes a man to grasp such acts. 
This tiny child inflames our pride.
This shining pearl remains inside.
And comes out like a rising tide .


Copyright © OMAR JABAK | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

Chinese New Year

Red envelope
Bursting with luck
Dragons dancing in the street

Copyright © Smail Poems | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Return Of Your King

Reflections of imperfections have shown me a way that I can move mountains through my power of faith even though I can't see him I know he is real through the power of prayer and a Love that I feel It's growing inside me like a flower in bloom shall I reveal my powers or is it too soon I am reading the signs through my darkness I find a reason for belief in the light of mankind that I know shall overcome the greatest of odds the Love I seek amazes me especially through the flaws because now I am inspired through the hero's that bring my throne through the darkness on which I return on as your King.

Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |

Do you like Pigeons Dad

‘Do you like Pigeons Dad’

“Oh No”

‘But Why?’

“They’re scummy things
They’re Rats with wings
They’re vermin of the sky”

‘That can’t be right Dad’

“It is”

‘How So?’

“They pilfer seed
They breed at speed
And harbour disease you know”

‘Are you sure dad’

“Oh Yes”

‘Since when?’

“Since the Rock Pigeon flew
And ended up in a stew
Since their domestication by men”

‘But I like Pigeons Dad’

“I know
You do”

‘I like how they sing
I like the shape of their wing
So you should like them too’

“But I don’t like Pigeons Son.
Not now.
Not ever.
Their walk is bizarre,
They crap on my car
And they’re really not that clever”

'But Daaaad…

...they wake me in the morning,
With their delightful coo,
Their plumage is wonderful - an iridescent blue.
They look good in the garden Dad
They don’t make such a mess
Do you like Pigeons Dad?’


[This poem was the result of being asked this question many, many, many times by my son. My son is on the autistic spectrum - he has Asperger's Syndrome to give the official diagnosis. He is a lovely human being & I love him dearly. But one of his most irritating traits, is the fact that he asks the same questions continuously all day every day. No matter how you respond, the same question will be posed minutes later. Currently and for at least the last 2 to 3 years: 'Do you like pigeons daddy?' is his favourite/most frequently asked question. Now that you know that, perhaps you can really feel the exasperation in that final ..."Yes"]

Copyright © David Sollis | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

Changing Places

Through a school window,
I watched a bird fly.
It landed on the window sill,
and we stared, eye to eye.

I thought, Oh little bird,
change places with me.
You study geography
and I will fly free.

Copyright © Darlene Gifford | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |

The Open Road

On an open road through the driving rain
She drove fast and deadly like a hurricane
Sad yellow stripes in between white lines
Covered cold dead flowers and some valentines

Her baby grows and her mother cries
A painful evelution right before their eyes
She left him bleeding as the future glowed
From a dying past down the open road

She fights the lions as she curse it all
The men the drugs and the alcohol
The radio dj makes it all look good
With songs about love and of motherhood

She saw her future going down the drain
Her baby's tears feeds her growing pain
A blade in the night and the bad blood flowed
Down in the gutter on the open road

A big black bird at the top of the shelves
Judging what they all did to themselves
With fingernails growing like a raven's claw
She will never see what the big bird saw

Like the drugs of the dying like a martyr's faith
There was light in the dark but no open gate
She hunted the keys to the secret code
As she watched him fade on the open road

Copyright © Steinar Gismeroy Olafsen | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |


Big blundering beast
Poor fish have no chance whatsoever
Neither does the slowest runner in your group

Copyright © Smail Poems | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

The Swan

The peaceful, humble beauty 
of a white lily drifting on reflective night
hums a sweet melody 
of contrasting light.

Trusting the darkness 
to be his throne
and the moon of loneliness
to crown his soft, unheard moan.

I watch from bushes of scorn
that mock him cruelly.
His fragile crest is pierced by the thorn
of rejection and bleeds its sorrows silently.

The rejected jewels of nature are mourning
for the king of the skies to raise his wings
but he can't see beyond remembering
and can't see past the thorn's stings.

Oh, scarred heart of grace,
spread strenght and flee with wild freedom
unto priceless solace 
away from this desolate kingdom.

Oh, jewel in creation's crown,
look not to stirred reflection
for it is mere perversion, a frown,
of the white rose of perfection.

Go now, leave behind only
a legacy of despised beauty.

Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Even More of the Flightless

Pay attention! 
Important chicken poetry coming up, 
though no binary fantasies shall deconstruct 
into raucous biddy enjambment. 

Grandfatber always kicked Grandmother's chickens away 
while he sat whittling under the Oak, 
Those ruddy, Cherokee cheeks sweating even in the shade 
as sweltering Carolina summers and bifocaled 
old women melted him away in his seventies; 
(Nothing heard by telephone, 
cackling when he put the speaker to his mouth 
or laid down to rest from the planting or harvesting, 
On the flowered sofa 
fussing with him to take off this boots, 
putting The Liberty News under his feet); 

But watching was Grandma's joy, 
Haystack Calhoun and the Nature Boy, 
wrestling on Saturday night 
on the Philco black and white, 
jumping up and jumping down 
fists flying with each takedown; 

Her fussing when he kicked her chickens-- 
He was a man of the Land not of the Leghorn; 
Course he still cut off their heads for 
Sunday dinners 
with a whistle of his axe, 
quick and clean; 
So much better than Grandmother's 
Flung blood and feathers, 
The live body's flight 
After wringing its neck. 

(You really 
Must take chickens seriously.) 

my brother and I hated that rooster! 
I'll give you Mean! 
Why that Leghorn from hell, 
with the perfidious, featherless rear, 
That wily old bastard, 
laid for us kids from under the porch 
flying at us spurs first 
when we snuck out to play. 
You had to admire his fierce 
Protecting his brood 
or just plain crazed for children's blood 
Therefore, I must insist 
That you take chickens seriously. 

The greatest chicken lit will not be televised, 
but written by neurotic poultry 
flirting with free verse 
or thrown helplessly into concrete idioms, 
wallowing in dirt-poor sentience; 
on the identity crises of Rhode Island Reds 
and the propensity of White Leghorns 
to transfer insecurities of undifferentiated 
as violence enacted on certain small children 
will be written but will probably not help chicken poetry endure. 

I pledge allegiance to the celebration of chicken poetry, 
And the underappreciated poultry for which it stands, 
One species, flightless but enduring, 
With free range and corn for all. 

Copyright © Thomas Martin | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

The Sea Rolls With The Breeze

Seagulls seagulls by the seashore open your eyes and you shall see more of the world's magik in front of your face why oh why would I ever replace the memory of that foamy sea crashing onto the shore while the seagulls are laughing with the children once more who feed them with eyes full of wonder to their curious delight seashells from dead oysters shine of the moon's pale sea light as they mate like the birds and the bees my sea kisses the sky when it rolls with the breeze.

Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2013

Details | Monoku |

Magical Evening

Larks parched on power lines
seem hoards of drowsy sheep. 

Soft eyes of child with tears
sparkle with stellar gleams.

Moon climbs on crimson clouds
like squirrels climb tall trees.

Fireflies descend from clouds, 
children think they are stars.

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016

Details | Prose Poetry |

An early song-2

I once joined the procession of colors and lost my heart
Till a wave colors distilled through night knocked me down dead.
Besides the mountain,  the midnight festival of colors is on.
Lying in my arms you imagine your blood is burning in my veins
 I am only listening to the chariot of the queen joining the revelry.

I knew you were being vain when you came to see me
I did know when your heart missed a beat. For the air was my friend.
And the tiny bird building its nest in the rafters of my roof
Did  not bring a straw as long as you talked. 

You never said bye.  For you wanted me to do that. But I had no time 
And kept riding on the wave. The storm is not away. What if I fall.
 Tomorrow I will be lying in these shores caressed to sleep by a smiling sun.

 I don’t have the time to forget you in the endless expanse of this blank night. 
Last night’s sun was but a spot hewn out of the tragedy of the heavens.
A tragedy that  survived the ages to live in my heart in fire and smoke.

You keep away while I create my pieces in these desert sands. When I proceed
 To give them the finishing touches, you shriek in despair. For you think
 I am going to spoil the lovely piece of some great master with my clumsy hands.
Tomorrow is the illegal child of today abandoned in the dark.
I end up at night  and my child is born at night, having passed 
Through  the summer that seared my skin and heart.
The cup of sorrow is never full, so there is no overflowing.
Yesterday we witnessed the winter night breathing its last.
Winter was in lament for the little bird that went up but never returned.

I bear no gifts for you. I know not your names. I know not who you are
But I recognize you without mistake against this backdrop of misery.
I come here with my empty bag to gather the drops of your sobs
And consign them to the flame in my mind leaving your smiles behind.

For: Catie Lindsey's Free Verse contest

Copyright © S.Jagathsimhan Nair | Year Posted 2011

Details | I do not know? |

Hey little horn,where are you born

Hey little horn, where are you born?

Hey little horn,
where are you born?
Hey, little unicorn,
do you eat corn?
I'm a narwhal and want a treat
do remember I can't stand too much heat
I am very sweet and clear
and I don't fear                

Copyright © Manasvini Kolavennu | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Crows And Ravens

As black birds, bad luck shadows us,
For we have many personas like trickster
Or ill-omened out caster, cast away
No matter how our broken speech sounds.
Our mere presence spark uncomfortable discourse.
How many chances can they take with our lives?

I’m cursed, within this unnoticeable room,
Where my only odds are fight or flight.
Except, my wings have been clipped, so it’s pointless.
Still, I’m dubbed as the freedom fighter,
And yet, I remain locked in a steel cage.

My sanity splits into delirium.
Fear burrow ever deeper into my fragile soul.
Anger begins to throb inside my once gentle heart, 
When the sadness starts clawing at the darkened pupils.
All the while, the hunger instills its own painful symptom.

So, I peck, I claw, I snap at the lock, 
While screeching the dialect, everyone forgot.
As one of them, I am voiceless.
A handful of grain is tossed in, with little care.
Above, the water rains down from the silver jug.

This occurred, till one hand unlocked it.
I struck her— blood had trickled down.
I clawed— I struggled for the sweet scent of freedom.
I hopped—I hopped from that oppressing cage. 
Willingly, I followed her out of the devil’s domain…
Never to return.

Copyright © David Ferguson | Year Posted 2017

Details | Elegy |


Bird, bird, when would mother come back?
The pumpkin leaves is dying and our
Compound is filled by spilled blood.
Would mother ever come back again friend?
Would there be more blood in the compound?
Father has fallen, Nkechi is gone and 
The future of those living is blank.
The shrine has be dismentled and the
Walls of the compound has fallen apart
And I am all alone, alone in tears.

Child, child, mother won't be coming back.
She had gone with the breast milk and smiles.
Leave the pumpkin leaves for her own trouble
Having what matters at the time it matters is
The best child, hold those tears for your beloved country
Until the end of time in death before dishonour.

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Dreaming Child of a king

I am just the dreaming child of a king who resides in the heavenly skies above. The only thing that I have ever wanted to do was help people who were in need by building hospitals, bringing food, clean water, and promoting the recovery of lost dreams.
The only thing that I the dreaming child of a king desire to do is bring a smile to a downtrodden face, mend a weary heart, and remove the scars and cuts from someone's beaten and contrite heart before I depart from this earth now that to me is my true life's worth.
I the dreaming child of a king paints a picture with words to show that my heart is a heart of love, I also paint a picture to show those who have never met the dreaming child's soul that it is a soul that aches to help the dreams that were once lost be achieved again.
Destined to destroy dreams that was not what I was put on this earth for I was created to help those lost like me find their way back to Heaven's door. I was not created to shed other's blood, scar their hearts, or make them weak I was made in his image so me being the dreaming child of a king he is the only thing that my dreams and I truly seek.
I lie awake with the paint brush of my dreams in my hands using many colors and painting many dreams from different lands whether rich or poor the only thing that my dreams and I desire is to be like a free bird and finally soar. Being the dreaming child of a king haunted by his sins, forever trying not to fall into the pit, the only thing that this dreamer desires is to one day hear the words well done and as a result my sins will no longer cause me to run.

Copyright © Charles Hill | Year Posted 2014

Details | Acrostic |

Rich people can eat soup too

I'm tired of people saying that soups only for the poor
I have tons of money just lying on the floor
Sometimes I come home to a nice bowl of soup
Even though I'm considered in the "Rich group"
If I have a bowl and a spoon
I'm out eating soup under the moon
And guess what, I ain't no hobo
Neither am I a homo
When I eat soup, I feel like I'm in love
I even gave it to my fat stupid dove
See anyone can eat soup man
Not like the rich can't eat it, it's not banned
I'll kill someone for a can of that soupy delight
heck, I might even tonight
Well I guess I've made my point
So calm down and go smoke a joint
Because soups also for the rich punks
I ain't no munk
Go get yourself something to eat
Maybe a hamburger or some other type of meat.

Copyright © Sloppy Joe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Vogon |

Sophie's Sofa

An elusive pedestal amidst the lights darkens the lounge
And many drink with a glittering eye of scorn
And the snickers only make the room spin faster
And indifferent fingers fashion you forlorn
But you can't help but notice that strange caster

There upon the sofa
That impossible being feeding off her little bird
Flings a silhouette in the brittle blight 
Every sickness is now blurred
It looks upon you before taking flight

Copyright © Sam Blake | Year Posted 2015

Details | Monorhyme |


I love the book you gave me with birds on the tree,
Grandpa can I say something, please listen to me,
It is not about the chocolates, but what I want to be,
I want to be like a bird, fly up in sky and feel free,
Can you buy a pair of wings, I know you will agree.

March 30, 2016

Personal Memories-Monorhyme - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Laura Loo

Copyright © Meenakshi Raina | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

The Fall of the Egg

A Blackbird seeks out
another bird’s weakness,
(fly nest, die nest, 
you’d better get away to another) 
Sparrow, why did you throw away your egg?
Now you beg,
but I know that
you’re marrying the Blackbird
(give the word: scurry, hurry,
find another home)
Then a peck, claw (what’s the law?)
Make another egg
for the Blackbird
(chase an egg, make it drop away
to the black day)
Die nest,
Another fell away.

Copyright © Garth von Buchholz | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

Mother Bird And The Child

Every child deserves parents but
Not all parents deserve a child.
Men on assignment don't die,
The moment you fade, memories fades,
Paradox fades but its only those things
That has eternal values remains valid.
Come with me little African child,
Come with me, mother and father had
Ran away, they saw hardship and poverty
And they zoomed off leaving you here.
I shall take you to a new world, come with me,
Let us fly up to heaven to enjoy life.

No mother bird! I can't go with you.
My tradition taught me to always protect home!
Africans always protect their own, they don't 
Run away from their problems. 
The land we are running to was built by another,
Why should I run there leaving my home?
Although mother and father has gone, I will
Not leave my fatherland because of poverty!
Cowardice is not of a true African believes.
Mother Bird, go for I belong here forever.

(C) John Chizoba Vincent
   Voice Of Vincent 2016

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |

The Kid's Pet Poem

Little bird, little bird
open your eyes and play.
Spread your spotted wing
But don't fly too far away.

Little pup. little pup
Whine though you may
Pudgy little play thing
Rest your little head, it's all ok

Little kitty, little kitty
Meow meow you say
Drink all your milk
Purr purr purr all the long day.

Little fish, little fish
glub glub glub in the bowl you stay
Swimming in circles,
Round and round so happy and gay!

Copyright © Deborah Foster | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |

Where is Louise

A story this is that most certain will please,
A tale of a girl by the name of Louise,
An unusual child with unusual knees
Who whistled “Too-WEET” and sat in the trees
And spoke to the sparrows and sang with the bees.

When her mother and father cried, 
“Where is Louise?”
She simply ignored them and swung in the breeze
Till her parents said, “Oh, what an awful disease,
That our baby Louise must sit in the trees
And speak to the sparrows and sing with the bees! 
Louise, Louise…we’re on our knees!
Oh please, please, come down from those trees!”

But little Louise, with a snort and a sneeze,
Tears on her elbows and tears on her knees,
Taunted them like a terrible tease,
Saying “Cross the rivers and cross the seas
But you won’t ever get me out of the trees!”

And so our Louise who sat in the trees
And spoke to the sparrows and sang with the bees
Stayed there till the day (or the night, if you please)
When the birds picked her up, and away on the breeze
Flew the little gray sparrows
With little Louise.

Copyright © Garth von Buchholz | Year Posted 2016

Details | Blitz |

Maranao Poem - Okemon na Okemon

| Friday | 12 | August | 2016 | 10:18 PM |
~ Okëmön a Okëmön ~
Okemön a Okemön.
na ino di maTimpalas
i piyamaka Rinayag
Na Bacon maTamparasa
a Piya makaMawaga
i Matag Dalin-Ndalina?
Okemön a Okemön.
Na inikaliwat 'TdN
a Tumolo-Tulong dN
na PhLuba a PhndkN
ka badi kasamperotN
a panimoon abnaN.
Okemön a Okemön.
na giyayakon i Uso
na Obakawn di Mapd
na ikaritan diKapd
ko Soci MiyaKalilid
na miya KJ-KJ ka.
Okemön a Okemön.
a Podokan na podokan
na iniKalalong a tao
a giyon di kaZærpa
o Andáwnon dadhPhël
ko phera rkhâ rkhaban.
Okemön a Okemön.
a matangkadn mataman
na miyadiyongkat tanan
a sa diyon makaLngan
a dibilang a itongan
o kaadn manarngan.
Okemön a okemön.
na baLsn di mabaLs
abadi maTamparasa
a dika MaeduCado
ko Kadakn a matindo
a badi mapado-pado.
[ Panabiya ko Ranao]
DALUKOD bo ka so kapháguzor o masa na Dibo khápaLagoyan ka Sarowar o di MisG adi tano ron Mangunot na di tano bo Masurot ka giyaya na Waraan, na aya Sarta iyan na so Kaphkha Bago-bagowi ko mBaram-barang a BASÁ, na kiyasangkilidan non so Basa tano sa RANAW, na osa kha-arap (akn), na baLsn tano ini [POKÉMON] sa matag Maka iilag, ka aya man a BILANGATAW na Maungo-na Masanggila Magadat, bata bolabaw ron igera aya makasisima na Tanandn manga Bae ka ObaBadn Phkâ baloy so taw a KAMUMUNDOWI... ]
~ ditadawayen © 2016 - Khadaffy D. Mangondato

Copyright © Khadaffy D. Mangondato | Year Posted 2016