11 September 2011


Crept beside me,

you bow your small head,


I wait to hear your story of the far off

sky you wish to see

and the river you wish to feel in your feet

you ask me to take you there, and I

look at your rooted disposition

sadness in my eyes.

I say to you, what can be done of me?

A petal sheds from your mane, resting on an outstretched hand

Go, you say.

I carry you in my heart, I let you see through my eyes

Though you’ve withered, lay to rest in your earthen bed

You linger in my soul.

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