Thoughts are bereft,
No rhymes left,
I said to myself,
You have to write something.
Like small birdsong,
Life will go on,
Enjoy the throng,
Trap yourself by hunting.
Thoughts are bereft,
No rhymes left,
I said to myself,
You have to write something.
Like small birdsong,
Life will go on,
Enjoy the throng,
Trap yourself by hunting.
