But, your still swimming.
In those little water-droplets-of-hope.
The insect-bitten leaves
in which you float.
Let the sunlight dance around
and give you hope.
After all these days, your still hanging on.
Listening to nature,
as the church-bell -tolls.
I don't know your numbers
but it could come soon.
As I'm climbing
the leaves rain dry.
I hope-to-God
this tree won't fall.
But who would care?
if the ground fell up
and squashed the two of us
between stone wall and wood?
Oh, and did you know?
your mod-roc seam,
is showing through.
near where the chain is hanging you.
No comments:
Post a Comment