Oh would that I could,
give you my words, I would.
again and again if only I could.
but though at times my words thunder like the hoovs of a stampede
and their echoes rise like the dust that it leaves behind:
and Though at other times when they whisper like the breeze--like the froth atop the ocean
that you travel--They, they
Seldomly come hither when the shepherd whistles.
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 6:31 AM UTC
Oh would that I could,
give you my words, I would.
again and again if only I could.
but though at times my words thunder like the hoovs of a stampede
and their echoes rise like the dust that it leaves behind:
and Though at other times when they whisper like the breeze--like the froth atop the ocean
that you travel--They, they
Seldomly come hither when the shepherd whistles.
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