11 August 2007


A river flows outside my room, I bathe in it every morning, The daffodils next to it bloom, As dew dies for the evening. None of the above is true, I hear horns and wheels pass, Trees and birds are but a few, It's all just the traffic of Class. The noise tells me my home, Among other forts and caves, Beneath a heat and dust dome, A path this tar endlessly paves. There is a mountain next to my bed, A golden eagle visits me every night, Moon herself caresses the lovely red, Dreams beckon me to leave, I might!

No comments: