a song, a story that is yet to be heard.
A moment in time that is meant to occur.
In a singsong voice, a lovebird chirps.
In a perfect picture, something is gone,
that something, invisible, from dusk to dawn.
It blows the flowers to and fro;
like an artist's palette; beautiful colours flow through.
It breathes beauty upon the earth to subdue.
As I stare out to the wind, and listen to its song,
It's breath of life does fall upon me,
And its innocence fills me to a great degree.
stare at the window..