The sun is going to its home
far far, in the west.
Approaching New York,
will it in time
and lighting up Bermuda
as it goes.

It diffuses into the clouds,
like a red smoke, as it obeys
Brownian motion.

Simile was a distant cousin
to the second stanza.
So don't correct me
even if I'm wrong.

The moon mocks the sun
as it leaves.
As Mourinho would Wenger,
when victory glides
into his palms.

Though the stars
are shy tonight,
but they hope to pry.
For our star-system
is not dry like theirs.

As the northern lights
wiggle in the Arctic,
my equatorial eyes
beg to behold its aurora,
as would an Eskimo plead
to hug the warmth of summer.

Winter mocks me
for it is nigh.
It mocks me even more,
for it isn't going to swing by.

http://guyxander..co.id/2015/11/aurora-equatorialis.html?m=1

Mourinho currently has more problems bigger than Wenger lol

Nice poem, Boss!

JigsawKillah:
Mourinho currently has more problems bigger than Wenger lol


Nice poem, Boss!

Glad you liked it