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O' agrestrial daisy, don't lose hope; for mine love is not fading. Ague hast hit me, thirsting to touch just one finger from thy hand. Im a child within a man; Im weak, hurting, eyes worn, Drowned in no time, One pocket and a dime, As I seek out thy soul, Mine soul wails and mourns. Seeking a vessel, to sail the sea's, I'd do anything, to get to mine queen; Anything tis, tis I'd do, even if still far, I love thee mine muse. Dost thou not seest, mine heart beating quick; it quiver's, it aches, From the fears that I get. The fears tis I get, to be thine own best, even in mine sorrows, Darkness, distress. I smile to impress, to show thee warmth, because O' how I love thee; even in mine own hurt. Even in mine own pain, with crooked teeth, and an ancient way; im a soul of the past, not one of today. When thou art cold, mine hair wilt be thy quilt, when the world try's to hurt thee, I'll take all it's filth. When the cloud's overcome thee, I shalt be thy sunlight; when thou only knowest wrong, I'll make it all right. When the bird's no longer chirp, i'll be that baby bird; that whisper's it loves thee, even in all of it's hurt. ©Brandon nagley ©lonesome poets poetry ©earl jane nagley dedication
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Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC
moró poulí ( Baby bird) greek tongue.