Hills call us along to somewhere,
along the fragrant pebbled shores,
to find a phrase for spending time,
and a dance through pretending doors.
We struggle to common purpose,
underneath a roof of reigns,
holding forth perhaps by gesture,
to alleviate heart felt pains.
Songs of chance inhabit imagination whirlwinds,
we hold them so pretty dear,
searching for an embrace of loving,
and beautiful moments to ease warm tear.
Oceans and lakes lay close before you,
if born under the passing clouds,
you have run to the middle of nowhere,
dressed in clothes of your history shrouds.
Twisting rhymes kiss at the gunwales,
your rowboats await near docks,
you search beyond mother and father,
what they teach you beyond wall and loud clocks.
Sometimes the tides move too quickly,
as we finally design fashion decks,
finding our selves in the see-weed,
among others in the millions of wrecks.
But moon is forgiving if we listen,
rising through sky’s embroidered scenes,
bringing back water to our painted skiffs,
as we rise in joy and generous dreams.