Standing at the Pilgrims well,
Stone laid circle and wooded pale.
Broken down by years and age,
Slant a little by winded rage.
Standing there a ghost it seems,
Like the kind in movie scenes.
Dressed in white with sign in hand,
Written red dripping sand.
This sand doesn't come from beaches will,
Instead the Sand Man and all his ill.
my name is written upon the sign,
Dreams and death have crossed the line.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Impressive
A moving piece dear Lestat. You work remains at its best I see. Bravo!
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I like the beat of this. With the rhythm and rhyme is has a great flow and fun read. Very well written.
Kelli
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