call my soul a
dried out pit
spit on it,
give it your judgement,
insult it in every way
you can think of,
but remember,
even the Sahara
receives rain
Friday, August 24, 2007
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Like a weaver weaves thread to create a beautiful rug, I'd like to think that I can weave words to create a beautiful picture that varies with each person that reads them. Here are my word-pictures.
No comments:
Post a Comment