The Eagle

The eagle flew by my head
And I know Every tide has it's ebb
And this thought is there
To heckle

And while the sky spits
Ruthless drops
So shall the gutters fill
And silt runs

The tending trees
Tell thier tale
And I know
That before the sun
Retires to its bed

So while its soars
To hieghts and heights
And I stand
And watch it over my head


Other poems of K SSEKAJJA (38)

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