10th June '2014
Touch.
A light touch.
Just a li'l feathery stroke.
So light on a sleeping back.
Like a pebble in a still lake.
Some ripples cascade.
Then the stormy silence and silence.
That's what a touch is all about?
But where do the ripples go?
Is there an underground chamber under all the lakes in the world,
where they go and hide?
Touch.
A light touch.
Just a li'l feathery stroke.
So light on a sleeping back.
Like a pebble in a still lake.
Some ripples cascade.
Then the stormy silence and silence.
That's what a touch is all about?
But where do the ripples go?
Is there an underground chamber under all the lakes in the world,
where they go and hide?
No comments:
Post a Comment