Who ever made the lion the king of the jungle...never looked around. Desert.
Who travelled across white sands and shingle … created no sound. Unhurt.
The destination sought beyond by caravan of wandering souls……without despair. In hope.
Whoever crossed the sea, made a home for free will. Survival.
And in this place the mane flowed free....a settled mind. Revival.
Given opportunities only by mother nature, this path has become more important than ever before and. Travel.
- Authors: Hidden Poet (Pseudonym), Michael Edwards
- Visible: All lines
- Finished: December 24th, 2018 02:30
- Limit: 15 stanzas
- Invited: Public (any user can participate)
- Category: Fantasy
- Views: 73
- Users favorite of this poem: vvnrose
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