Monday, 21 January 2013

Tired Ocean

No ocean at her feet
Or waves that caress
Just birds from her eyes
That seek greener lands
Where roots and branches
Gently collide.

The purr of a cat
The roar of a lion
Swords of morning are drawn
In the shade of tomorrows
With nimble words that fade
Like whispers under a quilt.

Hesitant but sure of tomorrows,
Deaf to all but blind to some,
Lost in her music,
I begin to sing.

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