Sacred Be The Seed Of Life

Par say by chance, the river danced
No mead to mend, no bow to bend
I'm too proud for you my friend

Speak in riddles tell us your rhymes
Shall I shower you with nickels and dimes
Quell the quarrel set forth upon us this night
And is there hope beneath this light

With one hand opened, you would understand
The burdens that have plagued this land
Pestilence set before the towers
Forty days without any showers

Feeble now my hand has come
And still, I'm yet to bleed beneath the thumb
How is it now the day is done
None return and still we run

Sacred be the seed of life
To honour thee my loving wife
Less I lead you from this shadow of doubt
There must be an end, to this endless drought

| Poetry 1 | Poetry 2 | Poetry 3 | Poetry 4 |

| Poetry 5 | Poetry 6 | Poetry 7 | Poetry 8 |

| Poetry 9 | Poetry 10 | Poetry 11 | Poetry 12 |

| Poetry 13 |

Copyright © Darryn John Murphy