28 de novembro de 2012

Pouring

It keeps tickling outside,
So playful and full of pride.
As a child, soaked in innocence,
For some: it is providence.

I close my eyes and count its touches,
It caresses me... it bites, it munches!
Ever so playful and always changing,
A sower that my heart is mending.

It brings dark skies and joyless days
For some, but not me, not such ways.
It moulds me wings out of thin air
And a dream ever so rare.

We say goodbye,
Like every morning and with no cry.
With the innocence I tend to borrow
I know we'll meet tomorrow.

Ever so playful you'll come, you'll see.
Ever so hopeful I'll dream of thee. 

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