Poems

Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. Amid the weary lands, Takes in his hollowed hands The clean and lively water, That trickles down his throat Like laughter, like laughter, So when you come to me Across these parched places And all the waste I see Flowered with your graces.