Angel PiscolaFull Stack something or other...



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 fall and break,
my heart and mind like mighty towers
above the currents of your lake.