They are a burst, the first, could be worse...
I thirst, like a bird perched,
parched, arched in an absurd curse
Yet terse, I parse, part and parcel, these
words, like crumbs left behind for those
who wander in so they may choose, or doze
or play and muse
among the prose
Wondering what witty wonderful words
would wander within while waiting, we
walked with wistfulness, wailing with winter
Time told tales today...
How can we possibly change the future? Remembering how things were say, 25 years ago, it sounds like a long time, yet seems like a blink...or maybe a wink...
Sunrise over the River