The wind is rustling through the trees out here
And so are birds of spring who've come around
And nothing breaks the silence made from that
So who am I to be the one to speak
In midst of such a perfect bit of this.
The shade of blue that backdrops to the sky
Has never once been seen before but here.
The branches cut the sky, and then the wind
Disrupts until the sky heals o'er again
Like nothing ever happened there at all.
The blue is written on and whispered to
And all it seems to do is echo back
If I decide I will keep to myself
And I decide that you will do the same
I won't say a thing because what's the use.
'Cause after all I don't think that it's real-
ly any bother now 'cause it won't change
If we decide or not it's worth our time
Nobody's going to get the things they want
So though we've lots to share, just what's the use.
The wind is rustling through the trees out here
While springtime creeps up closer every day
And nothing breaks the silence made from that
And nothing ever makes me want to say
The things you'd like to hear 'cause what's the use.
YOU ARE READING
I'll Wait
PoetryThe new poems I'm writing don't always fit in the old books. These are something new, and so I hope to see what they are all about as we go along. I'm looking forward to these new pieces. I'd like to know what they are going to be about, but for no...
