21 April 2010
11:39
Standing on the cross of lines
Chalked into the dust but a day ago-
There we played hopscotch, where now resolve the games of men
Don't you wonder the birds still stroll across the heavens
Done in the shades that looked so pretty, once , on you-
Moulding dust with spittle, minding the child you yet were,
The skies abide,
Only your eyes are larger
And now you stand, on soil that has intimately conversed with many toes:
Wandered weathered paths and again come home.
05.06.00
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