Umbrella
Hid under the umbrella of diffidance
A queenly lass in a town so quaint
strode forwards towards the fields across
In her stride, a queen, in heart, a saint.
Every today is tomorrows yesterday
It could rain or it could brightly shine.
her tiara of faith her very own ferry,
her very own river and very own dime.
The streets of struggle are only made
of cobbled joy and feebled sorrow,
With lamps of wonder with light of awe,
And lots of life and love to borrow.
In a jungle so conceived by human mire,
through the web of confusions so unreal,
to laugh and cry and weep and hug,
through, to the wilderness so surreal.
-Mx
No comments:
Post a Comment