'google658fd05d77029796.html' Truth is Lie | The Original Poetry

night is young,
dreams, dud
farm green,
soil, just mud

hope, fickle
akin my hut
lives in river,
dies in flood

glass is half,
half is good
lesser than plenty,
better than wood
everything’s fine,
fluid is fluid

still i live,
spouse to look for,
and a scarecrow

is that enough?
never understood
who stole my thunder?

distraught,i laugh
sprightly, i cry
vegetable, in garden
in stomach, butterfly!
truth is what,
beautiful lie!

It is only the farmer who faithfully plants seeds in the Spring, who reaps a harvest in the Autumn.

                                                  - B. C. Forbes


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