Rebecca Stansfield Poems
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The Kind Of Day When Violins Play
Clouds made up of sounds of violins, the white clouds that seldom move, if you stare for days.
The birds that never seem to look angry, even as the crows, eat their own friendships.
The kind of day when the sky, looks like a flying ocean, and you want to jump up into it, not realising that you cannot fly upside down.
When the monsoon is barley a problem, because you like the look of the rain anyway, because it looks like sunrays, sunrays from the sky.
The kind of day when the trees hardly seem to sway, even if there was a tornado, you'd refuse to run away.
And the crickets that ...
Tender eyes erase
This there place of emotions
And running through me like a fish to sea
Creating all spells of tingles inside of me
And nature makes these feelings
Feel soft and warm and free and gone
And as essence flies out of my life
And leaves my spirit as cold as ice
Being happy I become so wondrous