I had a conversation one day
With a lady I know,
Talk slow I say
I’m not running away
Her eyes were wild
‘These caterpillars turn,
To butterflies not’,
though her manner was mild
Misunderstood they watched
She could have clocked them, NOT
Like a child she turned
And then she was burned
‘With flame?’ she asked
Coloured in jade, they don’t fade
They saw, but not with awe
‘No! Blame I see,
Don’t fill your pockets with stones’
We laughed and joked
How blind we can become
Rivulet streets they are jealous of flow
Barriers, up they throw!
We are out too sea in this house
Where the strange rules our rafts
Change is in the mist
Throw doubt from your midst.
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Keep it clean, don't be mean but if you like what you see and read then let me know. I'm all about art being discussed and yes my ramblings are art