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Rated: E · Poetry · Philosophy · #2202044

A short poetry

(Written originally on 12/5/19)

When we glide around our playful day,
Absorbed in a moody play.
So haughty that we don't care,
If picking on butterflies is fair,
If hurting little ants over that tree,
Comes today really free;
But someday they will surely fly,
Like we do in our gifted sky.
And our decades of wine,
Will end watching them shine.
© Copyright 2019 Tanya Bose (tanyaxxx at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2202044-PRIDE