February 15, 2007
Amurder
Where can I go
Where can I hide
Where can I sit with all my pride
O'er the sea I'll flee in a boat
To find the wild hills that call my name
The road gets bumpy
The road gets rough
The road can be quite really tough
My traveling feet do become weary
To find the wild streams that call my name
I see the crows-
A murder of crows
They speak bad omens I do suppose
Do they say my journey comes to a close
Will I find the wild hills
Can I find the wild streams
- I wrote this poem for AP Lit today. I kinda like it. Just need to think of a title.
scullerymaid at 4:04 p.m.