I am one hundred and forty seven
Miles away from home,
I am surrounded by friends that
Love me,
But no family,
How am I supposed to survive
Without family?
g.c.g
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The blossom of a poet
ПоэзияWords fall softly like the petals from a blossom tree, drifting slowly onto the paper, creating poetry like the spring, beautiful and light, but just like the seasons, the poetry changes, the autumn comes and the words become heavy, falling quickly...
One Hundred And Forty Seven
I am one hundred and forty seven
Miles away from home,
I am surrounded by friends that
Love me,
But no family,
How am I supposed to survive
Without family?
g.c.g
