That bright summer afternoon, no orange sun to see,
Warm lights through doors it stepped in like a crowd.
A warm loo sweep through the door went flung open,
It murmured voices so strange, no undesired.
I had my head down the bench and rimmed through past,
‘Yet the may day I not wish the same’ I heard my voice.
Though wisdom had no answer, no fresh did I saw,
The warm sets declared and here grimed a nightmare.
Ill face no swarm to fly, no bird to chirp,
Little gems that fallen and crushed levy haven.
Dried red lips of mine murmured “Yet the may day
Had the sun rose through west I not wish the same”.
And Monday morning today is cool,
Expedition of what sun to see, its orange.
Silver sky and my eyes far away from the view,
It’s clear as pearl threads from heaven.
At last, my way is clear, not the way it disappears,
In the breeze so fresh and drizzle frizzle.
At last, my feet can step where destiny doesn’t want to,
In the time of mine and none of others, the way I want to.