It was rushing on its way
Not caring where it came from
Not knowing night from day
He rushed ore the rocks and pebbles
Thus wearing away their shape
So foolish was this brook
He laughed at the rocks bitter hate
So the earth the brook ran over
Shook with anger when failed to hide
For the brook washed away their identity
But who can unshaped true pride
Soon the quiet valley trembled
And then began the flood
And in but just a moment
The valley changed to mud
No comments:
Post a Comment