The world seems embalmed in gray, wistful anticipation for fickle nature to relinquish her water and drench an already soddened earth
And I, plan not for what words shall come forth from heart to mind to prose
And I think not of what I will create,
but with open mind and heart, like mother earth I wait
Words as well can fall like rain
Form easily from clouded thought to manifest in a down pour of emotion and content
Till the hands cannot keep pace with the magnitude, (though once trace) of effort spent
I cannot provide intent or source of prose
For what provided inspiration to my story true
I can only hope that what was wrought
Whether sadness, fear, laughter or pain
Did ultimately touch you
1 comment:
Exactly what does this have to do with dating?
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