Over the hill and into the snow
The ominous fear of no tomorrow
Till the sun goes down and the moon comes up
The faint dreams haunt of a boy and his pup
The sign of smoke brings up intense joy
But tears stream down thinking of the boy
Yet you must move on, your kin's in need
You must forage, to return with food to feed
Finally the commanding smoke pulls you back in
And your family questions where you have been
Broken each day, starting the trail once again
Just over the hill is where it always begins
4/7/99
YOU ARE READING
Until then
PoetryI live with a mathematical, logical mind, but tend to be immersed in emotion. The imbalance can both prosper and hinder me. with love, b 1987-until then...
