POEM # 15
Was it you passing through my valley?
Were you asleep on rags in an alley?
Sweat beads on your brow from the heat,
Flames from the Suns nostrils, call retreat.
Misfortune travels coast to coast,
Your ears hear frustration boast.
Shade from the giant oaks curtail the fire,
Fields of crops needing workers to hire.
Sit down in our valley by rushing stream,
Fall asleep as your mind engulfs a dream.
Snow dragons wrestle you till dawn,
Once again you are the Suns pawn.
Written by Carl Mann