Talking to myself through poetry
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Wrinkles seek no consent
Before it penetrates
Staying young is a race
No one can win the chase
I asked, where lies my fate
When I go grey and late
All beauties have a phase
But none can keep a pace
So now I ride my horse
Not to put coin in purse
But to give thanks to God
For this beautiful world.
Soon you will be off an infant cloth And may encounter storms, dust and rust Some achievements may seem a mirage Unachievable until success emerge…
Let the pages fly and spread their wings Let my spilled inks make millions to think It is plain and simple, hope it sinks “All…
Simple or made into an Elf What is music to a born deaf? Same question goes without tongues Pot or Chef, who spoilt the stock?…
It is no news that the pigs are fat As a result of the embezzlements Taking politics as a personal farm Eating from the labors…
Wonderful!
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Thank you. And thanks for the picture
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