Waves//Poem✍✍
Waves
From the first tick of a new day,
Till the last cry of dark spirits,
The wind never misses her way,
The parrot never keeps secrets.
From the faint strike of the lyre cord,
To heavy rumours of the light fingered,
Rose flowers never cease to drip blood,
Honeys never dare to taste buttered.
The eye of the sun also is never frozen,
By the weatherman who succeeds her,
The few always remain the ones chosen,
The moth remains a prey to the nightjar.
Winter, Summer, Springtime, Harvest, Autumn,
One comes first and then comes another,
That when the thick sun rids us of freedom,
A dry wind from the woods eats up her weather.
waves.