04042017

I smell the flowers all the time

I walk between the blades of rye

I lift my head beyond their leaves

I pray dear Lord, upon the eve

 

And in the night beneath ruffled throw

Between the clouds, I’ll surely go

And in the morn before I wake

The kindest gift He’ll surely take

 

For in the night when I’m alive

When pain is gone and sorrow dies

A fearsome tome of jaded feat

Allures my heart; the great deceit

 

© Kyanna Kitt

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