Lake
poem
Words do flow from rivers winding, fingers type and feelings fly. I wrack with shivers fastly binding from the coldness of the sky.
Sunshine beckons on the 'rizon calling with a ray of wheat; a melancholy cloud does widen waiting for my sure defeat.
Yet stand will I, and fight the powers wishing me to fail and break, my heart and mind like mighty towers o'erlooking your sweet lake.