March 3, 2011
We leave a print,
Everlasting rain.
A seed of thought
In someone's brain.
Yet after death,
Faded, no pain,
This seed of thought,
Is now the main.
This vine, it grows,
Defines terrain.
Planted by you,
Inside one's brain.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback