Pray and pray again, there will come an hour when the request will be granted.
When the massive minute hand
Shakes the little hour hand
And holds him firmly in a grasp
That makes him want to gasp
For air, for air, for air.
I know my love
Even in the womb of bad weather
Will never like a blade of grass waver
In the wild wind that forever blows
Cold flakes our way from a place filled with snows.
© 2019 The Poets Peace