Cris (_prism) wrote,
Cris
_prism

  • Mood:
After noon (but not yet evening)
Thin terrestrial beings wave in the wind,
with rattling lantern skin,
while the brush to my right--
it rings within.

My soul mistake was that I--
[immune to time]
wandered freely,
and ran out of rhyme,
just to keep my heart beating.

this token
[a gift from you to me]
is but another world's currency,
a word with another meaning--
lost to me.



can someone please get me out of here? I was bird-watching in my back yard at 9am.

one single bright male cardinal singing his song atop the tallest tree on the block (all to himself)
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