Poems from kowilson4
A foul sight to see, war is.
The horrid sight of a field, once welcome with liveliness and beauty,
now pillaged with bullets that show no...
Dear Old Oak Tree
Who dreamed of limbs that spiral
Who wished for no limit
But they still cut you down
But you still try
You still grow...
Her lips were the color of the sky
On a dark and murky day
Her eyes no longer filled with light
While on the bed she lay
I ask her to rise...