She likes the sadness,
Life has let her down,
Prefers to smiles
The furrows of a frown.
Each of us farms our life
In our own way,
Prefers to grow what crops
We first learned how to say.
When she raises up her face
To enjoy the sun,
Farming still in trace,
She feels the freeness
In life's run.
Sunday, September 6, 2009