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In fields of green where battles rage, Where feet and fury dare engage, There stands a silent guardian keen, The humble shield for shins unseen.
By GiftsFlash.com2 years ago in Poets
In the land where the glasses clink and gleam, A realm of drink, both iced and steamed, There live the smallest guardians unseen,
In quiet rooms where whispers hum, Where needles click and yarn is spun, A tale of peace, where hands take flight, In the soft embrace of silent night.
In a realm of cotton fields so wide, Where threads of dreams and hope reside, A humble seed in soil does rest, To bloom into a garment, blessed.
In a quiet room, where dreams reside, A canvas blank, stretched wide, untied. Numbers whisper, soft and true, Inviting hands to blend the hue.
In the city's heart, where shadows blend, A neon sign begins to mend. Flickers of colors, sharp and bright, Chasing away the dull twilight.
In corners of our lives they stand, Silent sentinels, crafted by hand, Holding tales in gilded gold, Of stories new and stories old.
In a quiet corner where dreams unwind, A tapestry of time, so finely lined. Threads of color, bright and bold, Weave stories of memories, yet untold.
In a corner of the world so quaint, Where blossoms whisper and trees do paint, Stands a meadow, pure and free, Where garden flags dance in glee.
A worn leather jacket, soft and supple as a summer breeze Enfolds me in its gentle grasp, a comforting embrace Like a lover's arms, it holds me close, a reassuring squeeze
By Abbas2 years ago in Poets
A simple shirt, yet oh so grand A garment worn, across this land Soft cotton threads, woven with care A fabric that whispers, stories to share
Nobody asks the sun why it rises Or the moon falls Why the bird sings Or the worm crawls So please Stop asking me why I am the way I am
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
