A sanctity for words
A wonder to who reads
A glory for asking why
A flag in the night
Bright enough to see
A nap before light
Disappears
A holiday that calls
For coffee and wine
Fruit on the table
Emotional map
Wind is still
Water is crisp
I can walk again
As wild parrots screech
A soft bed beneath
My back I ask
Who reads what is said
How much of our words lay dead
© GÄ
Poétique 