Mine are the night and morning,
The pits of air, the gulf of space,
The sportive sun, the gibbous moon,
The innumerable days.
I hid in the solar glory,
I am dumb in the pealing song,
I rest on the pitch of the torrent,
In slumber I am strong.
No numbers have counted my tallies,
No tribes my house can fill,
I sit by the shining Fount of Life,
And pour the deluge still;
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too much good post
check out my new post: https://steemit.com/story/@nuralam543210/the-rich-lady-and-the-painter-short-story
follow me and upvote me
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Nice
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