Rolling grass hills,
and white stone windmills.
Streams and wells,
echoing church bells.
Fields with trees,
stretched down to the seas.
The perfect temperatures would blend,
while the hair-like grasses would bend.
There came soothing whistles,
from winds against thistles.
Creatures weren't screamers but singers,
breathing air where sweet aroma lingers.
Always came lullabies and never sad cries,
in halcyon days where lives the peaceful sunrise.
ESTÁ A LER
CLUCK NO
PoesiaA collection of both emotional and humorous poems about growing up and other frustrating parts of life that'll sound alright in your head, but just plain stupid out loud. !!!WARNING!!! This is not a compilation of chicken poems.
