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charles-brannickPoems
Early before day break before the jewels of morning sparkle our love is there It visits and travels like the foreign ships that come and go the men unload her cargo, and the fishing boats will go out to sea for their catch Our love is a trail we follow with vistas where we write new chapters Our love is the pretty colors of the orange marigold and purple of a careless summer garden Our love is a family of birds chirping and in the pleasing sound of footsteps on gravel paths Our love is heavy and it bends the ends of old oak boughs it is in the tips of branches reaching as far as they can go Our love is in the different dreams passing only a few of which we share So much of love my heart cannot contain it is all the beautiful dreams of all the people and in all the great songs on this street alone there is at least 15 I do not know A bird I know flies away, I want to tell it something but it flies away before I can this too is a form our love takes A tear forms in my eye whether it is from cold or love I cannot tell I want to go somewhere I forget where or why I follow the scent of the baker baking fresh morning bread Our love has many forms .
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Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 10:38 AM UTC
Our Love Takes Many Forms
Early before day break before the jewels of morning sparkle our love is there It visits and travels like the foreign ships that come and go the men unload her cargo, and the fishing boats will go out to sea for their catch Our love is a trail we follow with vistas where we write new chapters Our love is the pretty colors of the orange marigold and purple of a careless summer garden Our love is a family of birds chirping and in the pleasing sound of footsteps on gravel paths Our love is heavy and it bends the ends of old oak boughs it is in the tips of branches reaching as far as they can go Our love is in the different dreams passing only a few of which we share So much of love my heart cannot contain it is all the beautiful dreams of all the people and in all the great songs on this street alone there is at least 15 I do not know A bird I know flies away, I want to tell it something but it flies away before I can this too is a form our love takes A tear forms in my eye whether it is from cold or love I cannot tell I want to go somewhere I forget where or why I follow the scent of the baker baking fresh morning bread Our love has many forms .
Written by
charles-brannick
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 10:38 AM UTC
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