We need some more details to complete your registration

Sign in with one easy click

The Soul

The soul laments,
Frozen by the cold,
For in the thick night,
Of a belated spring.
Its euphonic music,
Won't be able to arrive,
To the soul that love,
The very same song.
The everlasting ambit,
As bitter as it were,
Will never let them cherish
The same music that they love.
Report Abuse

  • About my poem
  • Review this poem
Sarah More than 1 year ago
love bit
Recent Activities
Most Active Members This Week
Poetry Pin Winners - 25,000 Points
Poetry Pin Winners - 100,000 Points