Poetry

Poetry
a most hated aspect of life,
Quenched or Quelled,
nack and rack.
He speaks,
we know not what he says.
Like Shakespeare
or Twain,
Words of wisdom they compell
Our minds we do sell
"rural scene, rural scene,
sweet especial rural scene"
What possibly could you mean?

The grass is green,
Life is red.
Think, think,
what does it mean?

I feel a breeze,
I see grass move.
Mother Willow must be calling to me.

Trees gone,
love lost,
However must we go on?