My grief is like a weary giant
Lain down to rest his head
Upon a path to nowhere
A meadow for his bed
As clouds float by above him
And moss grows on his chest
People forget to notice
The giant at his rest
But one day as thunder rumbles
And lightning strikes above
The rain will pelt his weary face
And he’ll wail for his love
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Author:
jenny.g (
Offline) - Published: July 14th, 2024 16:19
- Comment from author about the poem: Loss is always there. Some days are harder than others.
- Category: Sad
- Views: 1
Offline)
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