Is It Poetry
Speak To Me And Come
All your words
to me they always have.
all their own
they seem to have.
Secrets no one knows,
I learned to show.
they only need to grow.
by the one you used to trust.
And the ring,
around his long thick neck.
You loved to touch.
Underneath that tree,
there grows a loving bush.
Full of leaves,
the sun has just begun to touch.
Will your secret,
bring the growing vine enough?
Singing songs of love,
that never stop.
Speak to me and come,
back home and learn to trust.
And things about the past,
will go away.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(27 January 1832 – 14 January 1898)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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