I don't fancy the wind.
It listens and bends as I move through it,
but
There is no strength in a breeze, and its kisses blow away in the gusts.
No, give me a creek to caress me, to wet my skin.
To understand my tears, to lull me to sleep.
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 3:05 PM UTC
I don't fancy the wind.
It listens and bends as I move through it,
but
There is no strength in a breeze, and its kisses blow away in the gusts.
No, give me a creek to caress me, to wet my skin.
To understand my tears, to lull me to sleep.
Written about Clear Creek in Golden.
