Song of the World

The song of the world is spun of gold.

It glints in the light from the summers of old.

It lights the path down the dark trails,

And fills, once again, tired fishermen’s sails.

 

The song of the world takes many a shape.

It disguises itself for the loved ones sake.

It is a bird flying high over the land,

It is the comfort in an old friend’s hand.

The End

10 comments about this poem Feed