Along the winding rivers flow,
beyond where weeping willows grow.
Where sunlights face is hidden fast,
and shadow from the forest's cast.
Deep in hidden graves of woe,
where even sleepy bears wont go.
Upon a bed of leaves and moss,
is where I lay and mourn my loss.
At last confirmed are all my fears,
bursting forth in turgid tears.
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Your father must have been a riot ...
Your poetry is on the mark style wise and flows very well
--- I like the poem itself and the words you chose ...
Well done!
~Nikki~
Amor
in places "where even sleepy bears won't go."
How we love to hurt ourselves at times.
And there seems to be no end of them, does there?
Good work, Elflet.