The Painting on my wall

Once I saw a Painting,

Hanging on the wall;

It was of a young girl,

It was of a winter's fall.

The girl was like waiting,

waiting for someone to call;

And She was like stop aging,

in that painting on my wall.

I saw her blue eyes,

I saw a ring she wearing;

She was like filled with cries,

And no one was hearing,

She was there like centuries passed,

Many winters came 

Many winters gone

But she was waiting for; someone to cross.

That old time was gone, 

The painitng was getting older;  

But she was still beautiful,

and her dancing gown too.

She was there standing in cold,

all the winters fall;

waiting for someone she knew,

in that painting on my wall.

I was standning down the hall,

I was just watching at her;

She was like telling her story,

In that painting on my wall. 

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The Old Windmill

Once I went on the top of hill;

it was so high,

it was so thrill,

once I went on the top of hill;

clouds around there,

it felt so chill.

Once I went to the top of hill;

I went thorough boulevards,

I went through woods,

I saw the beautiful places,

that no one could.

What I saw there ,was the old windmill,

 On the top of hill,

She was walking with the wind,

Whenever it flows,

She Sounds like Playing flute,
Whenever wind blows.

The moon came up,on the top of hill;
Shining on the old windmill,
made her young and beautiful,
like she was once before.

And now she was getting older,
like my grandfather,
Still she was standing alone,
The old windmill,on the top of hill.

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