My love blows sea-ward,
I am not the waters of a sea.
Torn shoe that sipped the dirt of fate,
And let the wind polish my mistakes!
Arch crest of a beaten Sun,
You aspire too much, he said.
Fading geranium, I am but your seed
Let me grow, let me grow.
I am but my own devil,
Trapped in a white-speck box.
Will be ashes in the phase of time,
The gutter will open it’s mouth and I’m gone.
A mother’s heart is Earth’s clearest mirror,
Fireflies being happy with light they glow…
Fading geranium, I am but your seed,
Let me grow, let me grow.
Painting Courtesy: Ira Whittaker, Artfinder
