A bubble,
Delicate,
Ephemeral,
I float and dance,
Carried on the wind
Yet not her plaything –
Guided and suggested,
I glide.
I fear to stop,
For I am weary.
Rising again
Will be laborious.
But oh how I long to pause,
To rest a moment in the warmth of the sun,
To taste again of a gentle breeze.
I will stop –
Tomorrow,
Most certainly tomorrow.
Now I must press on.
January 26th, 2014 at 10:51 am
Love it!!
January 26th, 2014 at 12:09 pm
Thank you for stopping by.
It turns out
That I did not rest,
After all –
Although Thursday looks promising.
January 26th, 2014 at 12:13 pm
I bet you are an interesting man, dtdeedge.