I look at lines and rymes but all the day
The river flows too slowly. And I feel
The shortage of the waves and jerk of fate
That would push on the stagnant raft from still.
In drowsy conscious hot enticing grass
Is swaying just like clouds in the bliss.
And I enjoy with idle calm at last
That took up nice and wild centuries.
A wild periwinkle catches on
A warm drain-pipe aspiring to rise
Above the land to look behind the wall.
Cause there is the space so wide and nice.
And height attracts the sprout to the sky.
But life of weed is useless as you guess.
And very soon the summer will go by
The fall depression is so merciless.
One finds there's point in the flying flocks
And thinks it is so great to be a bird!
But eaves are being hit with fallen drops.
I hear how Eternity says words
That the drain-pipe which glorifies the life
Is happy now like the river that
Allows hands of Yours to wash off by
Fresh clear water from the signs of sand.
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