the sun sets every day
the winter comes next month
the butterflies die in the fall
but some think more of us
some say the man, he never dies
his soul is neigh eternal
some say the man shall live throughout
tis little help come funerals
the sun has set again today
his soul, mayhaps, alive
the butterflies died just last week
and here his mother cries
2 comments:
I love poems directed a conjecturable subjects. Who knows, but who doesnt either. So much fun to speculate....
i couldn't agree more. glad you likes.
rm
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