I hear the plea
I hear the plea of North
I hear it breaks the heart
Of Northern dwellers
The ground is wet with mourning
And lips trembles with sadness
And our houses are no longer home to us
For Evils flows freely here
Swooping down into our lands
Full many a heart torn by sorrow
Of their not returning fathers and sons
And their mothers and daughters
For us dwellers in the land of death
The clock is ticking with the death of Mortals.
YOU ARE READING
WORDS OF THE INNOCENT
PoéziaHere are some collections of my inner voice, Bottled and buried deep down in the depth of my heart, Scribbled down on a piece of paper. . . . She sighs,and look through the window, Waiting for the sun to shine, So she could hide in the world of book...
