Oct 2014
The wind, a curling
yell between the streets;
the leaves, a watercolor
spilling out into
the evening/ paint it
pretty as you're leaving.
yell between the streets;
the leaves, a watercolor
spilling out into
the evening/ paint it
pretty as you're leaving.
You may never know this
happiness until you separate
yourself from all the self-
reminded, old-time association.
happiness until you separate
yourself from all the self-
reminded, old-time association.
