Words

The words just flee from my head,
to the paper in front of me.
They tell of love and sorrows be.
They also tell of other things.
Of happiness abound,
of little creatures.
In the air and on the ground.
Of seasons one to four.
Of cold hearts and warm love.
Of arms reaching out,
for a safe haven,
or shelter from a storm.
The words they tell of many things,
between the lines written.
Only a keen eye,
will find what lies there hidden.

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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