poem 

blown away by Stones of windThe breeze kept iT Alive 

Grown iTS way by tones of friendship 

The sound hangs in there 

To survive 

Known iTS beauty by owned emotion, The feeling’s still the knife 

That cuts the scone in pieces

Of a terrible delight 

  

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s