There is this wall,

a whole brick wall

with prickly vines and all,

a barrier to keep him off.

He doesn’t know her face,

he doesn’t care to trace.

For she is there,just there,

a million pieces in the wind.

The lark doth cry in the morn,

the deer doth feed in the clear

and all the little things everywhere

know her laugh,looks and share.

I just stare me,myself and i

conjure up faces to fit her flair,

tis all myself can do til the fog clears,

to see the world in her eyes.


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