Sore Pie

And the more life’s swings impact the tantamount to the low and high
The hazier the day’s bright light
As a wingless bird conquering its core to fly
Before the eyes of the clumsiest man’s song
Sang with his sweet-tongued morning pie
And for all night long
Whose glance pokes the clouds of night
In search for the wingless bird, under the clouds, and among
Whilst thundering down his might
Over the clustering river at his floor
Yet now the rain is sweeter than his pie of sore

Poetry by Farah A.Y


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