Posted by Peter on August 17, 2008, 11:53 am, in reply to "Re: Many Facets and Faces"
86.145.121.35
This place we call home
Is touched with stains.
There are no rains.
They come and go,
Making a market.
But all the same there is no rain.
Will you pull on my heartstrings?
Will you write a ditty?
Will I see an artist
In between your words?
Will I draw you out into a drawing?
Will you show me your dreaming?
To all of these, what's your answer?
Will you give it before sunset,
before the sun falls on our activities
here on Earth?
Will you brave convention?
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