every day she's a poem
to be loved
her dance
his very words written down.
and with a bowl of soup
ladled by his hands
he sat to write a song
in his empty room, alone
to find his tears collide
with every roaming cloud.
Weathered Grace
every day she's a poem
to be loved
her dance
his very words written down.
and with a bowl of soup
ladled by his hands
he sat to write a song
in his empty room, alone
to find his tears collide
with every roaming cloud.
Been there before… that’s why I love this so much. . .
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Oh! this is so beautiful and sad 😦
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Thank you. ❤️🎶
LikeLiked by 1 person
You are welcome. 🙂
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