deepundergroundpoetry.com
Eyes
Autumn mornings,
Foggy grey,
A bittersweet
Sort of day;
Woodsmoke lingers
In the breeze,
And deeply now
I pause to breathe;
The sun rises warm,
The sky clears to blue,
And I miss the grey
That reminds me of you.
Foggy grey,
A bittersweet
Sort of day;
Woodsmoke lingers
In the breeze,
And deeply now
I pause to breathe;
The sun rises warm,
The sky clears to blue,
And I miss the grey
That reminds me of you.
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