Sheltered

by

Joyce Hemsley

The hour was nigh
when my blue bird
would die, but
fret not - he died
not alone.
I burried him with
his little green
friend, out there
'neath a shining
white stone.
I cannot feel sad;
I can only feel
glad, as they know
not the cold winds
that blow...
Cosy and warm,
they're away from
the storm; sheltered
where the red roses
grow.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at AQUELA MULHER É MINHA MÃE
by: Ivone Boechat
from: Niterói, RJ, Brazil

To visit all of Joyce Hemsley's poems, click HERE

Check out these deals at Amazon.com

...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities

To write us about this page,
contact willy@dreamagic.com (Willy Chaplin)