Rebecca Stansfield

The Wing, Balance In, In Time - Poem by Rebecca Stansfield

Every bird 'a coming around
the fire of the WHO in me,
and where is the day starting?
I love you-
and where does it be ending?
I love you-
If there was a balance of perfection,
a real one number of time,
just one wing on a butterfly,
don't let it stay,
the wing, balance or time,
do it though- begin to play-
rushes of it- everyday.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, May 31, 2012

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