Balances Poem by Smoky Hoss
Balances
Fog clinging to the limbs of trees
refusing to let go,
the sun shall return, and burn, but
how could the wood ever know -
Hands were made
to hold, and
lest we forget
also to let go -
Who would dare love
what they must lose to death;
the greatest gamble will be
taking your final breath -
Beautiful Smoky, the flow of this poem is really good. And everyone does want a hand to hold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/19/2024 12:15:05 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I like this very much.