This Is What I Can Say....
when i climb uphill
you know what i do over there,
when i go back to the plains
and spend more time walking
you mistake me for
the flower gatherer
or the child at play
cutting flowers and
segregating petals
giving them to the
blowing winds...
what matters to me is
what you know but what matters
most, is what you guess...
i am no flower gatherer.
i am no longer a child either.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.