Love Is the Golden Grown of the World

The World and its Painful Sorrows

Blog, Poems

The world, walking away from itself, is lost in a fog of Confusion; its loud screams howl for help to staunch the spurt of pain that won’t seem to go away. Oh, the world and its endless troubles; who will give him a helping hand today—or tomorrow?
A long line of trees, away in the distance, mirrors the charm and beauty of a woman.
See the scampering trees, guiding the avenue and waving their hands in the wind;
See how they run, like Kangaroos, skirting the edge of the road and directing traffic as they race along the pungent avenue, stuffed with racing chariots along the way.
Skipping over the furrows, they bend and bow in the wind, dancing as they go along.