If my feet followed
to where my head wandered,
then I'd just be a sigh
or breath away from you.
If thoughts could be weaved,
then you can just tug from your end
and I'll go to where you are.
If whimsical musings
were granted in a blink.
Then you'd always walk
with a cool breeze,
soothing string quartet
and the scent of vanilla
following you around.
Traveller copyright ©
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The last part is one cool cat