Breathe...Gasping, into light you're thrown!
Like glass, your turning leaf is blown
clear of sweet slumber's song but there's
no need of hers - you'll sing your own.
You, newly born of mother's prayers,
will breathe your first of earthen airs
and thirsty, let your voice be heard
'til she's dispersed the drink she shares.
As leaves are, by the wind, bestirred,
with each new breath, you'll find you're spurred
on by survival's undertow
as well as by debts love-incurred.
Oh, precious child, I love you so!
What wonders of this world you'll know
but one day too, this life you'll leave...
Take one last breath and let it go.
- Lycia Harding
That's quite enough from you, slo.
Go on, back in the hutch.
Paranoid old man
reports his stolen paper.
Story on page five.
Careful, you maverick. They might be reading this.
...can't blame a guy for trying
Molecular Consulting, yes...
get with the times, mate ;-)
(Ultraspaz - that's my Asperger's shining through; thanks for noticing).
You still dealing, slo?
What is poetry for?
- Sharon Brogan