Author Information
Moil
A method to my madness,
Brings a long and winding run,
To the continuing sadness,
Of a world to many gone.
It is the passing time,
That when in held in hand,
Does retrospectively remind,
At the little we understand.
A small globe of blue light,
Might be the indication,
To develop the good foresight,
To its true illumination.
For it be the colour pink,
That many toil to,
Pretty or riske less think,
But for a brief reprove.
But naturally I books,
And glimpse the other shapes,
Also be told in looks,
To need just what it takes.
Then quickly I remembers,
A short but courageous lass,
Who rarely dry, though tenders,
A smile for my sorry ass.
©R.H.Elliott 2003
Of ths piece I will say nothing, but,
I will grin from ear to ear
for the wisdom spoken here
that man does welcome here.
3 cheers for the pink...
amy
Gentle is the night♥