"kowing" poems
A bold Eagle flies low
skims the earth with a glance.
Wonders how all seems to glow
why is life only a show?
The older eagles fly up high,
kowing the terrors of life below.
Once you've turned yourself over to the ground
your wings are clipped.
No one will hear a sound,
part of the show you will be.
Never to fly again,
with remorse those below look up.
The Bold eagle swoops lower and lower,
closer and closer...
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC