walking through halls
or streets
or heads
light as a feather
smile on face
snow gently falling
raining
calling
fumbling toward the bright
like a carrot on a string
heaven only knows
the garden we tread o'er
to get there
but when you've stopped to smell the roses
and find yourself back in the desert
water is not the only thing you crave
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment