“Words” are the leaves that grow
From branches in the mind
And cover our thoughts with color,
And always fall... in time—
“Poems” are the lawn beneath
Where we hide in the shade
And our souls frolic bare footed,
Catching the thoughts... once made—
“Time” is yellowed paper
That holds them forever
Or at least long enough, for us,
To forget them... never—
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is 6 pm Saturday, and I just read this nice, soft poem. Ohio, West Virginia - whatever