poem 4
a lonely forest, which was once quiet, now’s home to a few crows
they grow with each passing year.
the old trees of the forest–memories and desires. oh do they creak, oh do they fall
they fall with each passing year.
i’ve been planting some cool seeds, new memories, new hopes and dreams
the crows like to eat the seeds. Oh well, guess I’ll try and plant some more…
The forest is my home. The crows are my friends.
One day the forest will end, and all that will be left will be the soil of the earth…
my favorite poem i wrote











