Mar 2020
Though ebony waves might roar from the deep
And racing winds howl athwart a darkened sky,
Though gloomy clouds might scud and weep,
My lurve for thee, precious mom; shalt never die.
Though thunder might crash with bitterest ire
And doth blot the entire stupendous yonder sky
With strangest ire, more fierce than Hell’s fire,
My lurve for thee, precious mom; shalt never die.
For though I know the ocean is deep and wide
And infinite seemeth a sinking sky without a bend,
Hark thee, effulgent star! Enslaved in the universe
Are all the above, but my lurve for thee hath no end.
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Tacoma, Washington 03/14/20.
And racing winds howl athwart a darkened sky,
Though gloomy clouds might scud and weep,
My lurve for thee, precious mom; shalt never die.
Though thunder might crash with bitterest ire
And doth blot the entire stupendous yonder sky
With strangest ire, more fierce than Hell’s fire,
My lurve for thee, precious mom; shalt never die.
For though I know the ocean is deep and wide
And infinite seemeth a sinking sky without a bend,
Hark thee, effulgent star! Enslaved in the universe
Are all the above, but my lurve for thee hath no end.
©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Tacoma, Washington 03/14/20.
Verily I don’t know any better words to express my lurve for her, still weaving more, more and so much more till no more canst my quill reel off, and that simply meaneth till I canst breath no more.
