Connection

64 15 4
                                    

Were you the sweet breeze
that read my thoughts
as I stood by the shore?

Or the waves
that lapped up to my feet
on idle evenings?

Were you the mountains?
The valleys of which
echo my secrets

Or the flowers in the gardens
to whom I spoke sweet nothings?

The temple bells have heard
my every prayer

But none have known me
as well as you
like poetry
for the soul

The Gift Of WordsМесто, где живут истории. Откройте их для себя