Little houses deep asleep,
as if brought by a storm.
The air is full of sorrow.
It seems to never go away.
Yet, I still wait for a
rainbow to arc across the sky.
Knowing that at the end.
Your beauty, I will see again.
Dark clouds gather
Little houses deep asleep,
as if brought by a storm.
The air is full of sorrow.
It seems to never go away.
Yet, I still wait for a
rainbow to arc across the sky.
Knowing that at the end.
Your beauty, I will see again.
A Wandering Poet 