Single hair left in my bed
Remind me how the rain is shed;
When in old age, do cloudy tufts
Surrender from the skyey head?
"No, no; the drops like rice are stuck
Upright into the paddies' muck
And being pulled from one hillbrow
Are in another gardenbed tucked."
I disagree; when clouds are blown,
They hold their weight as seeds unsown.
It's when we let them lie with us,
The clouds, the locks of love are grown.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 9:17 PM UTC
Single hair left in my bed
Remind me how the rain is shed;
When in old age, do cloudy tufts
Surrender from the skyey head?
"No, no; the drops like rice are stuck
Upright into the paddies' muck
And being pulled from one hillbrow
Are in another gardenbed tucked."
I disagree; when clouds are blown,
They hold their weight as seeds unsown.
It's when we let them lie with us,
The clouds, the locks of love are grown.
