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.
kyalo.