Country, clouds and literature
The time comes
When all the birds in the fields,
Picking at the freshly turned soil
And seeds,
Will lower their heads and bow
And to their knees
They rest
To watch the sunlight
Slowly creeping away
Kissing the clouds
As the world spins
Just like always
When all the birds in the fields,
Picking at the freshly turned soil
And seeds,
Will lower their heads and bow
And to their knees
They rest
To watch the sunlight
Slowly creeping away
Kissing the clouds
As the world spins
Just like always
posted by Allister Reynolds at 1:45 PM
