Learn more about other poetry terms
The cold whirled into the room, The breeze freezing the poor mans toes. A sigh rattles in his chest, His fingers strum the strings of his guitar.
There once was a person who was old, Who stole a leprechaun's pot of gold, So the latter kicked him hard And he flew across a yard, And then there's a wind that's very cold.
How do you feel? I asked the man. His response was slow He answered me though, Wise words seemed to flow
'A real boy?'he muttered behind slim glasses'he wants to be a real boy?' Had he known how the devil triumphedIn votes cast, In voices muffled Or the trials, misfortune: the way life bent you backwards.No boyish joyNo smiling toys Would he still w
You’re tired because you’re tired. It’s a phase. It’s a feeling. It’s a frame of mind. Go drink some tea or take a nap,
Catch me if you can Said the rabbit to the farmer With his gun gun gun As they ran ran ran They ran through dale They ran up hill But the farmer With his gun gun gun
What happens at death? The curtains shut forever Putting you in permanent blackout It happens eventually I believe that the body goes to dust But the soul lives on I hope that my family are present
Summers gone Autumns here Trees begin to shed their leaves Copper browns russet reds abound the ground Ly on grass beneath branch and trunk Wind arrives blows leaves around Autumn leaves Winter comes
Visiting grandma Going shopping with grandma Taking a bath in front of grandmas coal fire Getting tucked up in bed with my two brothers Bedtime stories Lights out at nine o clock
There was an old man.He rode on a small boat.This man canTame the waves like a moat.He tries to get a fishThat is his only wish.
The briny breathes of the Humber welcomed my parents to the its shores, and left their cheeks flushed along with their hair unkempt.
The day is bright but there is no lightYou wonder how this could beIf you were meYou could surely seeThe beauty infront of me
There's a beehive in my heartwhose bees buzz all nightthey’ve built honeycombs in my veinsmaking me as stiff as a tin man with no oil I bleed honeyand it attracts bears
Bees are sitting On the Wind Drifting Feeding On the Wind Bringing life to those once dead Bees are searching On the Wind