Left alone for all to see, But no one can view down the crooked seams. It's wishful here, gentle rain over my head, gliding down to Nature's Life. I can feel the roots of a thousand seep in their beauty. Not one leaf and stem to mimick the other, Kindly making way, to and fro, up and over they should grow, To bless and bath in shine. It's wishful fear, to be in, but away from here. A little longer, my soul will slow Down and down, To the ground, Cold, soul, freezing found. Each eye gazes through blades of grass, Supple trees bend and sway... As the fog swirls round n' round...
