Stih4e > The voice of the soul
Sad skies
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NiksY:
My love is poetry, my poetry is love
and it is fragile early in the morning,
when the cosy clouds are way above
and they refuse to heed the warning:
the quiet warning of impending rain -
just like the sky itself will spill a tear!
Then every single drop will try again
to kindly find and amputate the fear.
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