standing proud and tall,
old yet modern,
the wooden beams creak in the wind.
A little boy sat under the sun head,
no longer wanting to stay in bed,
with his eye looking up,
in his hands,
a small cup.
He had snuck out you see?
To wonder at sky above,
not sparing a glance to the town below.
Under the roof he perched,
for a way out he searched.
-
Author:
atticus_made (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 4th, 2026 02:23
- Comment from author about the poem: a small part of a collection I am making
- Category: special-occasion
- Views: 1
- In collections: A skull ahead.
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.