Pictorial Prose

Pictorial Prose
Indulging my most lucid daydreams

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

What Game My Ears Play



What game my ears play, in silence I hear,
the song of love rushing upstream to the
hollow near.

Thistle to seed, a flock of golden finch, cast
the stage in sunshine of a dream I wouldn’t
miss.

Maple seeds pirouette to the grass so green and
the closer I looked a silhouette could be seen.

Hearts embracing dance as one and for a special
moment we met up under the sun.

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