*
In nature found shades of round.
Lines form people’s way.
Art needs no direction.
Yet paths of years do sway.
Love abounds where seekers found.
Journeys tread to gray.
Time revolves around the sun.
Its end I cannot say.
~*~
sck051717
rhymesalot
Outpourings from a poor old porous mind
rhymesalot 