The old wood

Written by: Erin Nash

He said cover me with poems
when I'm in the old wood
paint your eyes of sapphire 
and run free you should.

I am the small dreams in your memory
the waterfall in your tears
the beat in your heart
the life of your art.

He said I am the papercut
that bleeds a quick pain
I am the door not shut
I am a lingering sugar cane.

I am the ash of beauty
the reality of nothing
the instruments in sing
the streep of a sting. 

Yes, cover him with poems 
when he's in the old wood 
paint his eyes of sapphire
and run free he should.