Now, only our finger tips are holding
The love we once held with our hearts
The bond we treasured and held sacred
The horse that ran a thousand mile
And showed onlookers a hundred skills
Can’t save the pothole one?
The eagle that swirl through whirlwind
Now seek shelter at the sight of darkened skies
Shouldn’t it try to flaunt its might?
Our lion that claims to have no threat
Why should it die at the hand of old age
That has no claws?
Was it in my dreams?
That you said we’d never let go
‘Cos now; only our finger tips are holding
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.