I, the one, to the beauty of such exposed,
That held the lamps and shades, and windows and woes.
From under cracks and above doorways, I see
What's left of a thought, an old distant memory.
Grown in the field, a love tucked away
Ending not far, a sundrop shall sway.
There, rocky cliffs and birds flying high
beauty enough for flowers,
and beauty enough for I.
We and the forest, and the forest and we
again shall know the lines to be.
And be, my love, in the storm we shall dance
and shiver, together, in our Mother in nature's hands.
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 4:13 AM UTC
I, the one, to the beauty of such exposed,
That held the lamps and shades, and windows and woes.
From under cracks and above doorways, I see
What's left of a thought, an old distant memory.
Grown in the field, a love tucked away
Ending not far, a sundrop shall sway.
There, rocky cliffs and birds flying high
beauty enough for flowers,
and beauty enough for I.
We and the forest, and the forest and we
again shall know the lines to be.
And be, my love, in the storm we shall dance
and shiver, together, in our Mother in nature's hands.
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