They bloom like flowers
They are colder than showers
They are not like the little boy that stutters.
They watch us do our cunnings
More like angels that bring us blessings
They inspire with aspiration
With the heart of determination
The minor cries in the heap
Dumped by a careless ship –
With the bearer’s tears
Filling the oceans with salt water
It thinks of letting its hoolers out
With the power of manipulating the skies.
They watch over us with crooked eyes,
That have the desire of using the uers.
Is that a word if I may ask?
But I would rather stay in brisk