I wrote a song and threw it
Into the flow of life;
why should I complain
if I picked out a stone?-
My pain is neither here nor there.
My song was made up
of sounds and words:
the stone was natural and smooth
A marvel that my words never shall
Quite enclose with art nor will.
benny
Posted by Madame Vauquer on July 23, 2012 at 4:14 pm
Very evocative, Benny.
Posted by bennythomas on July 23, 2012 at 4:16 pm
Thanks, Dagny. Have a great week ahead,