I don't think of you during the day
Apart from when I'm on the bus,
Journeying through a dream land to a tangible destination.
Your face fades into short sightedness
Until I stumble across old photos,
And hold them close to my face, close to my heart.
Your blue eyes are now part of a mood board of mine,
Instead of my entire outlook on life.
And I never believed what a friend the morning could be.
How well the dancing trees would listen
As I pour out all my secrets
To be absorbed, like carbon dioxide,
And be exhaled as harmless oxygen.
They whisper; give us the tales of Summer,
The Autumn with its wind and its match-making rain,
Give us that Spring you spent alone,
And we'll show you the light that grows,
Out of the Winter
That holds your soul.
And we conspire
And we laugh,
And we promise
To heal things
To grow things
And to eat,
And enjoy,
The fruits of our labour.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
I don't think of you during the day
Apart from when I'm on the bus,
Journeying through a dream land to a tangible destination.
Your face fades into short sightedness
Until I stumble across old photos,
And hold them close to my face, close to my heart.
Your blue eyes are now part of a mood board of mine,
Instead of my entire outlook on life.
And I never believed what a friend the morning could be.
How well the dancing trees would listen
As I pour out all my secrets
To be absorbed, like carbon dioxide,
And be exhaled as harmless oxygen.
They whisper; give us the tales of Summer,
The Autumn with its wind and its match-making rain,
Give us that Spring you spent alone,
And we'll show you the light that grows,
Out of the Winter
That holds your soul.
And we conspire
And we laugh,
And we promise
To heal things
To grow things
And to eat,
And enjoy,
The fruits of our labour.
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