A word as meaningful as a poem, a story as old as time

Shall the sand trickle, shall the waves thy roll,

I pour my heart out as the wind may blow,

My dear emotions sink into my soul,

As words start to slowly yet gently flow,

To the I write, I will, I shall, I must

Their roots forever may lie on this page,

To them I give my everlasting trust

The birds chirp if their cries will get caged,

Their thoughts will emerge if thy is disturbed,

The secretive shells may echo my name,

Shall I beg for them not to be perturb’d?

Shall I make them a secret if they have fame?

The clouds bellow as thy sunlight blinds them,

The storm shakes the sky as thy lightning slashes,

They fall round the depths of the growing stem,

It is all made, reality clashes

By Margaret, Lower III