So often i see the man
with the hat of straw
swaying his thoughts in desert sand
lacking the falling star, a broken law
So often he comes to me
holding out his hand
his face an epic journey
his hair a mess of strands
So often he stands there in the storm
looking at my window, arms folded
in the rain, with flashes a monster is born
me a child, in fear shaped and molded
So often i stand and wonder
about the man with his strawish hat
the rain and his world down under
as he walks the path,like a train on track
No comments:
Post a Comment