Its Gleaming Light-Beams Washing My Old Soul

Its Gleaming Light-Beams Washing My Old Soul So sad about some far-off hidden things That are not my business, no not me Washing these feet in such soothing hot springs No not I, nosey as a damn ole busy bee! Along the mountains, its jutting ridges I walk admiring that fabulous star Cross I the famous great seven bridges This heart yet blinded wondering where we are! Its gleaming light-beams washing my old soul Saw evening as it slowly crept in My worries stabbed me taking their deep toll I a warrior but heavy are my sins! There walked with majesty, the black-maned boar. Snout rutting the ground, to find its next score! Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet Jan. 5th, 1979 Last edited by Tyr-Ziu Saxnot; Today at 08:33 AM.