Memory of Tikling Island
On a mystical night,
In the Island of Tikling,
He strummed his guitar,
And sung his lullaby.
His voice magical carried by,
The summer wind.
As I lay in my cozy bed,
He strummed his guitar once more,
While the other poured fermented drink.
I like a bird,
With a broken wing,
A traveler,
Lay in silence,
Listening to his lullaby,
Until my tired eyes,
Hushed me to sleep.
poem by Tess Rockenstire
Added by Poetry Lover
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