i never know
what to say
i try my best
but i fade away

i'm so lonely
i want to talk
i have no friends
so instead i stalk

come over here
i think in my head
no one hears
so i lie in bed

As I’m hinged over the sink
I cry, and whisper
“Move on”



I don’t know how long it’ll take

There are threads of contradiction; alternative
Voices cry and whisper protesting they are not
Heard and go to their unquiet grave still saying
They have rights too and should be allowed -by
The poet written. Why won't they just shut up;
Bawling infants, my own crying babes?  Because
They must be, coddled, rocked and sung to sleep
And so I tell them with truth that they are loved
That their needs are heard; their voices understood
Are woven into the strands that of every song -are
The silence,  the golden silence that makes visible
The Voice of Love that shall be heard forever more

The  drought  was
very   bad  luck
for  a  emergency
economy
specially  depends
on  agriculture.


A  drought  area
  of  a  
thief-farmer
is  needed
to  dig  and
store
precious  metals.