Time
The time is passing through my fingers,
Like a golden sand,
Burying my feet deep,
U n a b l e t o m o v e,
The tears coming from my eyes -
Continuously watering the roots
I grew beneath my feet,
The sand is now above my knees,
And the wind of promise whispering in my ear
that this to shall pass.
Copyright © Helena Plahcinski | Year Posted 2023
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