Poetry

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What is that solemn sound,that takes so long to pass;a night
delayed by a sombre stage,that last's alas;through life's access,
and so the night drifts slowly by,sleep itself evades the call,
and sombre feelings tend to say,some thoughts come by like the tides own way;by ebb and flow they come and go,that's where sombre
feelings show,a self reflects all forms of living;creation ever
seems to say;am here take me when you see me where,all of time
may spread by swings,include all things;can be like a rock put into hock,time ticks away redeem your life's own pledge to-day,
limit speaks a day each week;if sombre thoughts are gloomy,can
they find a place quiet roomy,is solemn sound all around,in GOD'S
CREATION;all thoughts are found,in LIFE'S very own unique compound. Joe.

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