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Poem

 

January 23, 2017 By Elizabeth A. KAINE

Mortality

We are all sages

But we are all on the edge

For we are all brittle as an egg shell

Sooner the master will call us to his cell

This wisdom we need to sow like a seed

And  I  want  all  to  take  heed  and  be  freed

Thought the mountain crumbles and the oceans rage

And war against our souls the devil may wage

 

RIDDLE

I may be quiet or noisy

But never hear a sound

I will disappear into the sea

Never to be found

What am I?

I have four legs

But I cannot walk

I stand all day

And I cannot talk

What am I?

 

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