The world and its love

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The time is running slow
The train hinge on the clock

The world write the story
Of their love
On foil, green grass of the wild

Insects feed on nectar
Harvest is far from getting
Old

Angels remember each names
by heart
Reciting from their minds
How gold was sold

They would tell sweet generations
That pass through the door

The world is fun, sleep chill
With love

The world is round
It would meet you
in your track
If life is not always sung

Image courtesy: mewarnai.us

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About Michael Ogundele

A writer, ardent reader and lover of nature. fell in love with writing five years back and I've been engraved in her arms ever since. I share my little way of writing poetry and reflections based on Catholic faith and Spirituality on this space. I hope you enjoy reading as we ride the same chariot to the leafy greens. Do follow me and together, let us jump into the ocean of my ink.
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