Tate Morgan > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

No one controls the hearts desire. Nor whether it be happy or sad.

What frail creatures we men are; made from sinew, muscle and pride.

Their smiles define mans beauty; More than life could ever say.

I remember the dark door where we hid from all the rain A dry respite from the storm safe in arms I'd felt no pain

I am the roots, You are the tree.

All that's left of our sweet love, is this song that we once knew.

Life washed by endless rain

Now a father of my own; I see him bright laughing still.

Hard the road that trekked our life.

My son how I love him.