As night draws in my journey comes to an end
My body must rest, yet the winds are rising in the east
The breeze of pine drives my soul onward, ever into the night
Trailing, following, haunted by pale headlights
which never allow me to see the future
On my right spread elysian fields, sung of by poets
She stands in the door on the hill
lamplight glowing about her silhouette
A name screamed into the wind
Then I am pulled again into the dark ahead
Never I returned, to the cottage on the hill
my headlights never passed me, returning to her
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment