Poetry

HOMOPHONES Poem
(Each line has homophones)

Sole aim of souls

He’s the son of the Sun
He knows no comforts
Knight of night’s misery he’s
Had won no one in life
No hymn could save him
Bye he’s said by joys all
Weak he’s throughout week
Loaf of bread he’s bred rarely with
Woods of pain he would lie in
No Yule you’ll celebrate greets him ever
No heal to his heels which stride in shame
Tides of misery he’s tied by
Rap of poverty did wrap him badly
No route he found to roots of safety
Yet rich opt wine ignoring these whines of poor
When sole aim of souls becomes equality
We’d one day find no weed of poverty

@Raji❤