Falling from the dark pen onto
the wishful white page.
Turning circles
skirting by forever
never holdihng hands or touching eyes.
In the snow I felt again the fresh glow. To those
I silently say goodbye
never though going away.
Running round stone circles in the sleet.
May I? Maybe
forever more, the wishful page exhorts
as the pen races on ahead on a million mile grasp away along the wishing page, continuing
never seeming to end
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment