You are a cloud without a kite, a kite without a string,
You are a clown. You are a clown upon the kite, you are the string
snapped off the cloud. You are the ground.
I am the rocks within the dirt. I am the ladder to the hay,
I have the dirt upon the hay, I am the hay.
“Hey-Sally,” no sound is listening to the kite without a string.
Find the needle in my hand. Sally is the grain of sand.
No comments:
Post a Comment