Imagine a day flowing by,
I could write and write,
With nothing else to do,
Just to ink every corner that’s white.
I would write to tell you,
About why I think the wind blows,
And why do the birds sing in,
Distant places one rarely knows.
I know I would have to tell you,
About the dreamy woods I run off to,
And those grey roads I wearily trod,
When my eyes need a change of view.
It won’t be for long but,
I would be lost too,
In the moments I’ll look into your eyes,
And know that it’s just me and you.
Grey
