Friday, June 24, 2011
Of The Day
There has been worry and strife all year,
The sloping ground and the abhorrent facts show;
The showing of nature is then spinning first,
With regards to the godly labour, and desks of thinking.
A little wood senses the surroundings and then
Everyone bolts to the right or left
Depending on their age or size,
Also depending on job and status.
The soft echoes are grey after me,
Then the sudden change is mastered forever.
May the tunes of the galaxy be with us,
Worry is no more an object
And the subject of the day has passed.