The sun, he made a late appearance
Hungover, he rose up woozily
Beating, burning, itching bad
Longing, missing what he’d had
The air is light, moans, palpitates
The morning came, however late
A new dazzling faint flame flickers fiery
Her cool breeze blows, whispers in her diary
Will the flame go down as the sun is up?
Will the moist of flame tame the heat she cups?
So the sun is hoary and is late
He woke up in a lazy stupor
Thinks he is still king from ancient renown
You’re a soft jewel I want in my crown
Sat, 05/17/2014 - 12:57