Forlorn Fellows
A butterfly rests it tired wings,
napping on my window-sill.
what foolish beings,
winter stalks it without will.
Do not you realize near is death,
in those frozen pearls?
In the visibility of your breath,
plainly whitened in the murals.
Perhaps you like me do find,
no fear in leaving worlds behind.
Thinking that death will be kind,
and free the tortured mind.
We find our company we find our wish,
We leave to short a world we think we shall not miss.
By: Mori Hana
June.2nd/2006
 Mori Hana · Fri Jun 02, 2006 @ 12:54pm · 0 Comments |
