It will be long before
you figure me out,
for I have just begun.
With each days end
that saunters in,
I’ll crave the setting sun.
And by the light
that shines through trees,
in shadows I shall run.
To see and hear
the simple things,
the hummingbird has sung.
So that is where
I’ll stay awhile,
without a word of glee.
Without talk
and without walk,
a dolce harmony.
Where there is no
tell of time,
oh what a sight to see.
And like the spray
of oceans breath,
embrace the mystery.
But if and when
I wander back,
oh what a tale to tell.
For there will be
no better time,
than those that I had fell.
And in the burning
yellow light,
from which I had once run.
It’s there I’ll sing
unto the sea,
and dive into the sun.
Words Of An Average White Male 