They were not
the kind of troupe
that rustled the leaves
of their existence,
Oh no, not them
they shook it so violently
Uprooting the tree
and flying off
on a quiet wind
such a quiet wind
they believed
in their victory
lifting their faces to it
scrubbing it down
putting it in thier lockets
with a rage of elegance
you don't know their name's
never will
but you will remember
that they took the day
even the indigo sky
and 40 foot cliff
and let it burn
within
thier
High falootin'
soul
No comments:
Post a Comment