Sunday, February 19, 2006The Garden CircusAt the foot of a willow Weeping gray moss and earth I trace the dirt with a finger The outlined sky above Water colored tears Shades of blue, And empty patches of white I brush the wetness from my cheeks Smearing soil like tribal paint My cries too soft to be heard Yet they linger like winter... Sign in to see full entry.posted by MiaElla at 6:56 AM Comments (2) (permalink) |
