This globe beneath me
within hand's reach
turns and turns and turns
What am I?
I am the language
between the trees and waves
painting the globe with gentle strokes
from a brush made of stars
What am I?
I am the painter of the fields
and the sunrise of a sleepy morning
I fill this globe of mine
with the colors of my soul.
What am I?
I am the heartbeat of this world
beating and resonating
waiting for the globe to dance
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
This globe beneath me
within hand's reach
turns and turns and turns
What am I?
I am the language
between the trees and waves
painting the globe with gentle strokes
from a brush made of stars
What am I?
I am the painter of the fields
and the sunrise of a sleepy morning
I fill this globe of mine
with the colors of my soul.
What am I?
I am the heartbeat of this world
beating and resonating
waiting for the globe to dance
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