Leave a comment
Random / Poetry
Stepping stone,
Wonderful ears
They hear the music
While I swing along.

Back and forth,
Like a little child
That sleeps
And does not want
To get woken.

Like a song
That does not end
In innuendo.

Wonderful years
They go away
Like a sad song,
Like the slipping rain.
Stupid fears,
Those hectic lives,
The bells go wild.

The Author

Woman. Floaty. Attached. Dettached. Sudden. Note-scribbler. Citizen of the world. Travelling to the moon and back.

Leave a Reply