Wednesday, 11 August 2010

Let it be

A baby, firmly holding the thumb of his mother, rubbing his skin on to hers, feeling the texture, looking at her, still identifying her role in his life.

Makes me think.

A scent filters the air as the rain falls on stained concrete.

Oddly, I find comfort as I breathe.

The Poet, scribing the future in her work, a gift unwrapped in her mind she carries on as normal.

In awe I read.


These things I need not question. Rather, I let it be.

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