It isn't time to words.
It's time to hear birds.
To forest's noise and cry,
To yellow green which die,
Which run from our blind.
It's time to hidding sun
In clouds of it's mind,
In rare kind of eyes.
In secret raining's wild, is
it all our blame?
This time is to the shame.
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 10:14 AM UTC
It isn't time to words.
It's time to hear birds.
To forest's noise and cry,
To yellow green which die,
Which run from our blind.
It's time to hidding sun
In clouds of it's mind,
In rare kind of eyes.
In secret raining's wild, is
it all our blame?
This time is to the shame.
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