Friday, January 23, 2009
Near The Reeds
Rolling hills and green grass soothe my wayfaring needs and I find myself upon calm waters near the reeds. O, to harvest one and add it to my flute with style, I’d play all the day long to make thee smile. I am entranced by thy amour-propre, by the look in thine eye, this life is so complete with...
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Of Futility
The day shifts to nightfall and I am weary. The hours of my survival wane as the sun bids adieu. It is futile and somewhat remorseful this melancholy mood. For it could have been lost in clamor or laughter or tears or heartache. Alas it was hidden in misconception. An unlikely source of deception...
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