SWINE FLU..

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  • Death

    SWINE FLU..
    the flu is spreading...
    everyone is dying...
    i listen carefully...
    sure that i would be next...
    there is no cure...
    there are no meds...
    then it happens...
    and it reaches me...
    the fire spreading inside like death itself...
    the swine flu is killing me..
    and i meet my death...

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    alisiapoems’s Poems (6)

    Title Comments Submitted
    Title Comments Submitted
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    SWINE FLU.. 0 04/30/2009
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