Wandering down dusty trails holding onto prospects
of many poems to be written, longing for the best
rhythms that can be played.
Finding ways to go faster and listening to music,
knowing meanings and definitions of a poetical
essence.
Moving ahead, quietly watching, being on hand as
each note is played, giving off scents of pine
trees out in the forest, mind listening only to
reason.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem moves smoothly along like a river RoseAnn 🌹. James McLain 🎸