Short Hays Poems

Hanging With Hays

Empty eyes,
tired of teardrops...
They croon of ages long gone
when chaotic deeds were done...
Empty skies...
deprived of dewdrops...
they cry of seasons unknown
when chaotic seeds were sown.
Empty arms,
waiting for warm embrace,
pressed against drenched pillows
they beat against besetting billows.
Empty charm,
once garnished with grace,
She lost her bliss and royal ray...
hanging with hays keep beauty at bay.