Letters making words;
fingers clicking to the beat
of my broken heart.
Letters making words;
fingers clicking to the beat
of my broken heart.
My heart always knows
what brain can never see.
Which do I follow?
No clouds in the sky
as a soft breeze floats on by;
Nature at her best.
How can I tell you
what I cannot tell myself?
Somehow, could you know?
A steady pulse beats
making music rise above
leaving only love.
Nature’s sweet embrace
seems always to make me cry;
keep your pollen, Mother.
A sudden impulse
can change the course of a life
sailing the wrong way.
Leaves blow so gently
on a brisk autumn evening
painting over black.
Nature has a way
of revealing the most truth
unpredictably.
Something as simple
as a heart beating with love
can sink a whole ship.