Shadows


The season’s flower is fading.
What is born to take its place?
We’ve pawned our lives, we’re hiding.
We sleep our dreams away.
Our mountain’s bare of topsoil.
Our valley’s no longer green.
Our river’s but a trickle.
Our ruins just break the wind.

If I’d a heart of gold.
If I’d the purest soul.
I’d never mistreat a land
that I couldn’t call my own.

1978, August

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s