the furrowed bed of sand worries again
as it had before, waves left the land.
for the falling leaves the child weepeing alone,
he’s letting go of the anchor and all the lines…
waiting for the fingers of the grey wave
of his mother’s hand to roll over him
with endless water… 10,000 bridges
show me father.
now I’m older, now much older
and this wake can take me out to sea.
and this wake can take me out to sea.
I can see her, she is calling me
I can feel her there…I can feel her there.
waiting for the fingers of the grey wave
or his mother’s hand to roll over him
with endless water… 10,000 bridges
show me father

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Beanyblogger.com