Now the sky is not clear
Soon it will shed its tear
Then my herd would scatter away
I would be behind and left astray
My grin will then be fading
As the sickness invading
Though my heart would swear
My little mouth couldn't bear
I would still slam the casket door
And it will crush my very core
The moon wouldn't care and run away
Satan would be hunting his perfect prey
All that left is my fragile creed
The fruit of learn, I plant the seed
Oh Thy Lord the Most Exalt
Do grant me a scholar's heart
Because I will not step outside
Through this poetry is how I'd hide
Hikmah
7 years ago
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