Story for the gods

Yesterday is of dead stories, source

When our head walked in the narrow path of blood.

We heard stories of how animals are broom.

And how the shy painted blue when flood walked.

So we nurtured thus day like a promising foetus,

With right thought living in the street of our mind.

But since man starts to fist for flocks.

These stories are like oceans in a basket.

Feel free to comment, upvote and resteem. I hope you enjoy reading.