Treasures, hidden under weeping willows
Growing where the air runs wild.
Their spirit roams free.
They are like gold.
Exquisite.
Through storms,
hustling through the winds, surrounding me
they soften each gust.
My friends truly,
are are a work of art.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 11:58 PM UTC
Treasures, hidden under weeping willows
Growing where the air runs wild.
Their spirit roams free.
They are like gold.
Exquisite.
Through storms,
hustling through the winds, surrounding me
they soften each gust.
My friends truly,
are are a work of art.
Request permission to use this poem