I want to fly into the skies,
like nightingales
and rest on roses
with my tender being.
Now my mind lies
on each leaf,
like shadows do in the summer.
If I could only tell
all my worries to myself,
because I am chained to tiredness,
and so cannot talk,
let alone sing about them.
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 9:19 AM UTC
I want to fly into the skies,
like nightingales
and rest on roses
with my tender being.
Now my mind lies
on each leaf,
like shadows do in the summer.
If I could only tell
all my worries to myself,
because I am chained to tiredness,
and so cannot talk,
let alone sing about them.
