You are lovely in all of your
wilting and waiting
the banjo wails tales
of your trail
pulling me fast to the tracks
of your steel-toned
and toeing these stones
like the boughs.
Sing sweetly the summer
a slumbering under
broke branches
and fixating sun
I've a tune in my hand
with your ink in my wailing
old river
to carry me down.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment