Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Good Old Abe

The ocean has no owner
The wind still is free
Every window has a viewer
Every needle holds a tear

This one wispers shiny voices at dawn
And at sunrise tissues blured,  always throughout a mosquito screen:
Abe and the remaining three sets of chops,
A blue stringed hanging chair  profiting inertia from the wind;
Swinging from a tree.

While the river plays his music and the night starts to sing
They I´ll be ready for a feast at fall in a couple of months.

To the west nests a Bold Eagle
For her bundle from the river she provides...

- Suspecting she has already scanned those lambs. Not shure though, just guessing

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