Of Poetry
It fed me once when I was young
It feeds me now I’m old
It warms me like the winter sun
Against the biting cold
There are no verses now to write
But there are songs to sing
Against the darkness of the night
While winter turns to spring
Of Poetry
It fed me once when I was young
It feeds me now I’m old
It warms me like the winter sun
Against the biting cold
There are no verses now to write
But there are songs to sing
Against the darkness of the night
While winter turns to spring