The morrows moon, to white of bloom.
The midnight at its whitt.
The reddest sky, to die imply,
The morn is strong to fit.
The shadow locked in truth of blood,
The blinded angels see.
A farm so blocked, a horses stud.
Alas for sympathy.
Reckless here i do betray,
The oceans voicless cry.
Remain to simple fields of hey.
A song to strangley die.
© 1 day ago
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Comments2
A very nice rhyme scheme accompanied by good meter lends itself that a wonderful flow in this piece. Well done
Thank you. Farmers know the weather better then the news. Lol
You are most welcome and indeed they do. Worked on a farm for a couple of summers and the old man knew the weather well
Remain to simple fields of hey.
A song to strangley die
Love these lines.
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