My love doesn't bring me flowers? Only bills to pay for the pedal mess. With
the tears to match this feeling of what's in the heart. The roses sing
outside my window. Growing just like other wild flowers in the garden. By
the thought of watching time. What's gone has gone. It touches as travel,
on all to the feeling, of walking, of long flights. Over land and overseas.
As the seeds blown, to my door. This city, that moves. As seasons change, in
reflection. Just a man cries, what are you crying about? You who write these
words on a page, with little understand or meaning. What has gone we can't
change? But change itself.
Build on what is left. This feeling within. To make better. Flowing on do
better. A page as a call, to think. Next time I will try better. I will try
the sliming milk Here I am. Over weight with no where to run. Just as
thought through the fields of hope, as cow batches on the run of life. Can
catch us all. Like thinking it's a head cold or the flu. Or time for my
chicken soup again. One cup or two. Tomorrow will be another day. And still
the bills do rise. It's a new dawn.
Kind Regards,
Sam www.MrMusicman.com
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