Poems from Grapes_W8
The dark tree’s branches swoop over your head,And fill up your soul with a feeling of dread,This place is forsaken; you think to yourself....
Atop the mountain lies an end,Past this hill, around the bend,A fruitful glade, a home yet found,Yes just beyond our living mound.
Often seen,Beneath all tree,Green feather fallen here.GentlyLyingCaringCryingBeneath all tree,Green feather here.
A sky abound with Sun untoldClouds and tears of ages old,A curl of childs hand upraisedTo skies unbound, the Moon unfold.
Burning low with red in deep,A hand impossible to keep.Thus lit by souls unweeping flame,While seeking soul burns not the same