Are there golden ways
The places are hidden in the sky ways
That likes the winter's windy beards of rain
I love the bindings in the book that hold such words exposed.
I dance the horse through a maze within my heart
Living is so strange I make fine art
To repeat the falling rain is pain
Each drop reminds me
They are non stop.
How soft is her voice
Gentle her ways as her eyes soft and gray
Lonely woman on the hill with a hope to show herself
To demonstrate a miracle that lives lives in breaking tides.
Now it moves into dark rooms
Where shadows play like puppets in the flashing light
With mermaids they do dances
Our faith.
Comments
Post a Comment