Often I would wait for words that'll trickle while the rain borne shades turn quite so fickle, and when I'm wondering why I see no rhymes swinging in the mizzle, a silent breeze would brush; tossing the leaves scribbled by the drizzle.
From My Heart To A Humming Dale
A collection of poems for the World.
Often I would wait for words that'll trickle while the rain borne shades turn quite so fickle, and when I'm wondering why I see no rhymes swinging in the mizzle, a silent breeze would brush; tossing the leaves scribbled by the drizzle.
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