As the branches sing above.
A noble thought to taking this as it were given…
To praise all the intricate notions we did not speak.
Timing, always fit to be tied.
And,
there is not a reason for Mother Nature to lie.
It is contagious…how I fear the falling
Candor in blankets of white release.
It is distinctive how I run from failure.
And,
there is no need for Mother to hold my hand.
Coming around again,
I will be behind a crooked bend.
