Draft 9-21-7
She crafts such a warm place without panic of fear
Her home is where, she is near.
The comfort comes from her sweet slanted smile
If it were in a language it would be music.
Music as all know. It must take your breath
Without a memory. A vision still shared and aware.
She makes the wind blow her way, to bring you
where you need to be.
There are no questions left unanswered. Let you look
Yourself, and trust.
Challenging the idea are we alone- there she sits
then smiles- again strait to the point
There is no empty.
Jere '07
No comments:
Post a Comment