As the nights grow cold,
the leaves on the trees grow weary,
But the heart grows warm,
and the legs grow steadfast.
*
Where the certainty of the winter,
the lining of frost,
and the snow falls,
now grow the uncertainty of love.
*
The heart calls,
the leaves fall,
the mind feels,
the wind knows,
All will be well in the end.
Author: The Pesky Poet
Never assume that you are no good at what you love as if you love it enough you will make it better. Take that form a dyslexic who was told they would never be able to write with any quality.
Thank you for reading and please feel free to follow https://peskypoetry.co.uk
