At the night's close
The winds whisper their way through tree tops
To tell of their travels
And looking upon them
We are rustled just the same
All hands at rest
While mine are restless
Shaking for a page to pen
In the solace of the the dark
Where you'll find me
Uncovering words in constellations
To scrawl on floorboards
In hopes that some day these words may carry me
And I may write
Words that echo
In minds not mine
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
At the night's close
The winds whisper their way through tree tops
To tell of their travels
And looking upon them
We are rustled just the same
All hands at rest
While mine are restless
Shaking for a page to pen
In the solace of the the dark
Where you'll find me
Uncovering words in constellations
To scrawl on floorboards
In hopes that some day these words may carry me
And I may write
Words that echo
In minds not mine
