Even when I've nothing left,
I'll always have my wit.
The poorest victim of a theft
Can't be deprived of it.
Even imprisoned and alone,
I'll always have my song.
When in a cellar, made of stone,
I'm free to sing along.
Even sick and ill and bad,
I'll always have my love
To give to anyone who's sad
And heal a bit thereof.
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Precious Poetry
PoetryFrom PROBLEM to POEM in 7 steps the Why, Where, When, What, Who, How & Wow of writing poetry Ai Ni and Ronaldo made this book to help poor people in Haiti, to build a school and teach them the art of a happy life. A warning upfront from the editor:...
