Illness creeps through the soul,
Which way will it go?
Will it pass without a thought,
Or will weakness inevitably be wrought?
It creeps up silent, takes us unaware,
It pounces without mercy, with no care.
Weak and trembling. Feverish and unending,
There is no telling the path it takes
A Simple man who dreams of being an Author one day. A lover of poems and stories of all types. A dreamer and a tale weaver in my spare time. What little I have as a father of three. Come sit by the fire, and let me spin my tales, let me speak my rhymes, and show you, a quite good time.
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