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Chalked out visioned dreams drawn out by tiny prophet hands |
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Yet worn out by time gets to the problem that I am |
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Roadside clover patch, searching for the luck I lack |
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Catch my eye as I untwine, only to find three smiling back |
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Simply to be |
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Clear to see |
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The cement is spreading wide as the flowers push on through |
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Causing webs of cracks to spread; what can a mother do? |
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Residues of greens and blues smeared by the feet of day |
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A child's work, a friendly wash, down to dull, flat greys |
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Simply to be |
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Clear to see |
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I know I don't know much, but I stand without a crutch |
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Shiny shards of broken glass lay down like a promise in the grass |
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Found the perfect four; it takes a while |
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You used to smile, you used to smile |
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Come on fortune fish define; come and curl up in my hand |
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As the tapestry that's weaved confers up all my plans |
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Reading out the years into the rings of grain |
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Now a stump, once a tree on which we carved our names |
