MotherA Poem by The Sober lieHaste has withered thee boneless and dry, burden by nauseous sleep that burns tender wells dry.
Come rest thy world on comfort breast and thou shall tease out thy warriors of motionless far rest. Till angels of light dance in their blessed place and sleep sweet sleep soddens thy troubled face. © 2010 The Sober lie |
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Added on December 8, 2010Last Updated on December 8, 2010 Author
The Sober lieNoosa (transient heaven), A true God believer, not religeous, not pretentious, evolution is the reason and will of God (look it up!), AustraliaAboutHave thee come to pity? frail mouth, dry of wine. Thou, in sober muse, wretched fits writes of thine. Not of age that sleep calls, nor the bells of sleuth, nae anger waits for thee home while t.. more..Writing
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