Tell me, gentle flowers, teardrops of the stars, standing in the garden, nodding your heads to the bees as they sing of the dews and the sunbeams, are you aware of the fearful doom that awaits you?
Monday, September 29, 2008
Spot the difference
The sky is grey and white and cloudy. Sometimes I think its hanging down on me. And its a hitchhike a hundred miles. Im a rag-a-muffin child. Pointed finger-painted smile. I left my shadow waiting down the road for me a while.
No comments:
Post a Comment