|
| |
Poetry
It's when I feel you
I let you be.
Swift, twirling sound in air,
You come like a thief in the night.
Your days of coming are unknown.
When will you whisper
Whisper the words of victory
To punch hills, notch, and porch,
Go north, east, south, and west,
And make Everest my home?
Oh, whisper the swift, twirling sound
'Cause it's when I feel you,
I let you be.
Copyright ©
Ayuba Stephen Bot
|
|