Words
Words
There's something about the crisp night air.
The hint of spring that's still there.
Makes life seem a bit less unfair.
The gentle breeze plays with its hair.
The darkness is a convenient blanket to wear.
Day and night each have a distinctive flare.
Both have their own way in which they care.
Lost in their own worlds somewhere.
Watching every step they take as they climb each stair.
They have their own set of words that must still their wish to be heard.
An underlying tone of desperation in every bone.
The loudest cry the earth has ever known.
It cannot be shunned to die, broken and alone.
Lives do reap what they have sown.
Do not ignore these cries and moans.
Repair the seeds that have been grown.
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