A pencil in handafter years swept in sand
not much to moan
neither much left in hand.
Friends around
talking over bottles of rum;
about times to come
and of the by-gone.
A bit sleepy
at the dawn break,
darkened hours though;
unfolds a brighter day
By the sea, i sit and sing
of hopes and wishes
and dreams of colorful days.
3 comments:
its cute :) never have i said that for a poem..but i found this one cute :P
Sounds Familiar!! :D
That's as much i can muster to write abt this!! :P
the phish curiously resembles you! :D
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