The Place I Call Home.
The sky is so greyAs I look out to sea
The fishermens boats
Bob like little green peas
The wind tugs my collar
My attention to get
And the salt in the air
makes my face feel all wet
The seagulls rise
And dive in the air
Like little white kites
That are going nowhere
The waves crash the beach
Then scramble ashore
Dropping pebbles and sand
Before returning once more
Although it is grey
My heart fills with love
The storm clouds recede
In the sky up above
This feeling of freedom
The urge just to roam
I'll end my days here
In the place I call home.
Poetry by penfold18
Read 824 times
Written on 2006-01-05 at 14:30
Tags Home 
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Zoya Zaidi |
Celtic boy |
Texts |
by penfold18 Latest textsForest of Bere.The Witch. A Soft Spot For The Roses. The Enemy God Willing |
Increase font
Decrease