Poetry

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All people of cork,am in your midst,these words of mine are but a gist,what i write may not be new,
it gets to grips with life,that could be true,all
words are like a carousel,around they go telling
stories,well well,some words into a phrase compare,
sunlight,good,bye's,to starry'skies,lots of why's
netherland,or heaven so grand,can come right into
a heads demand,a well trained mind,a sharpened
blade,reveals the shape how a face is made,a clock
can tell the time that's true,it's nothing new,
everything is old,bold,or cold,these shivers belong
to man's own fold,and nature is his legacy,it shows
to all man must be free,for GOD ALONE HIMSELF,did
see,that a man without GOD,is a sad sight to see,
indeed,poor me,would be.
Joe.

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