I’ve been itching for this moment.
Always wanted to comment.
This poem is like an ornament.
It will live longer than expected.
It is compassionate.
It carries the love of writing,
What else can it carry for you?
It gave all to you, cared for you.
What a wonderful thing,
Like a blossoming flower.
That blossoms inside my veins,
Out through my mind to be published.
Oh what a foretaste of glory defined.
It unites people to become one.
Thats the love of writing.
It’s not a fashion but it is what you feel inside,
What you want to utter without opening your mouth.
Oh what an amazing thing it is.
It sorrows your soul, washes your heart
And rinses your lung with pure love.
Oh what a happiness provider.
It listens to you when nobody does.
It removes your pain when hurt.
It enlightens your day when sad.
It soothes you when in need.
It’s truly lovely friend that would never turn against you.