domingo, 19 de maio de 2013


By Érika Batista


                                               The voice of a nightingale
                                               Creeps within my veil
                                               Crumbles into my heart
                                               And so
                                               The spring comes smart
                                               Making of fruits and life
                                               Its goal.
                                               The knife
                                               I’ve been feeling against my soul
                                               Stop committing the foul
                                               Of killing me.
                                               You see:
                                               There’s no ill
                                               In an existence
                                               That can’t be healed
                                               By the patience
                                               Of waiting one more season
                                               Standing up a hill
                                               For a reason
                                               Why this life should be lived.

Nenhum comentário :

Postar um comentário