Runde always roared
when rains hummered Mazvihwa
and we did not know anymore
what the sun looked like.
When a river speaks
It helps to listen
and bag those words
before they grow wings
and fly away, but we let
Runde fly through time
And now, sitting here,
I am one of a few
Who listened just once.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)

0 comments:
Post a Comment