Tօɖaʏ, tɦɛ tաɛռtʏ sɛʋɛռtɦ
Yɛaʀ օʄ ʍɨռɛ ɮɨʀtɦ;
Tɦɛ Lɨɮʀa sċaʟɛs sɦaʟt ɮɛ ɮaʟaռċɛɖ
Tօ tɦɛ ɦɛaʋɛռ's aʟօʄt I aʍ քɛʀċɦɛɖ.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
Tօɖaʏ, tɦɛ tաɛռtʏ sɛʋɛռtɦ
Yɛaʀ օʄ ʍɨռɛ ɮɨʀtɦ;
Tɦɛ Lɨɮʀa sċaʟɛs sɦaʟt ɮɛ ɮaʟaռċɛɖ
Tօ tɦɛ ɦɛaʋɛռ's aʟօʄt I aʍ քɛʀċɦɛɖ.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
If you can't read fancy text it reads
Today, the twenty seventh
Year of mine birth;
The Libra scale's shalt be balanced
To the heaven's aloft I am perched.
