Poem -

Reaper

author
Louis

Betwixt the mower's reaping iron,
A crumped life does lie.
The blood thick and crimson bright,
That spilled now dyes the rye.
The promise of the morn's bright sun,
Was granted way up high.
But from her blooded flesh no more,
She’ll feel its burning sigh.

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Views: 
414
Rating:
Total votes: 2
Tags: 
Death
Poetry Genre: 
Freestyle Narrative Nonsense
Topic: 
Nature
2 comments
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Comments

author
sparrowsong

Hello Louis...

Welcome to Cosmo!

I know that guy...

I met him a few times...

He smells awful doesn't he?

I think he needs some Lume...

Great write!

Thank you for sharing...

sparrowsong

Reply
author
Louis

Thank you! :)

Reply

Votes

Hj's pictureHj1001 year ago
sparrowsong's picturesparrowsong1001 year ago

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Hj's pictureHj 1 year ago
sparrowsong's picturesparrowsong 1 year ago

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